Blame Where You Must, Be

But Winter Lingering Chills The Lap Of May.

We Had No Revolutions To Fear, Nor Fatigues To Undergo; All Our Adventures Were By The Fireside, And All Our Migrations From The Blue Bed To The Brown.

Error Is Ever Talkative.

A Great Source Of Calamity Lies In Regret And Anticipation; Therefore A Person Is Wise Who Thinks Of The Present Alone, Regardless Of The Past Or Future.

Popular Glory Is A Perfect Coquette; Her Lovers Must Toil, Feel Every Inquietude, Indulge Every Caprice, And Perhaps At Last Be Jilted Into The Bargain. True Glory, On The Other Hand, Resembles A Woman Of Sense; Her Admirers Must Play No Tricks. They Feel No Great Anxiety, For They Are Sure In The End Of Being Rewarded In Proportion To Their Merit.