Where The Mouth Is Sweet And The

Fishes Do Not Roar; They Cannot Express Any Sound Of Suffering; And Therefore The Angler Chooses To Think They Do Not Suffer, More Than It Is Convenient For Him To Fancy. Now It Is A Poor Sport That Depends For Its Existence On The Want Of A Voice In The Sufferer, And Of Imagination In The Sportsman.

Colors Are The Smiles Of Nature.

The Beautiful Attracts The Beautiful.

Music Is The Medicine Of The Breaking Heart.

When Moral Courage Feels That It Is In The Right, There Is No Personal Daring Of Which It Is Incapable.