But It Is Impossible That

We Are The Children Of Many Sires, And Every Drop Of Blood In Us In Its Turn Betrays Its Ancestor.

Every Man Is Wanted, And No Man Is Wanted Much.

Every Opinion Reacts On Him Who Utters It.

Wealth And Poverty Are Seen For What They Are. It Begins To Be Seen That The Poor Are Only They Who Feel Poor, And Poverty Consists In Feeling Poor. The Rich, As We Reckon Them, And Among Them The Very Rich, In A True Scale Would Be Found Very Indigent And Ragged.

Manners Are The Happy Ways Of Doing Things; Each One A Stroke Of Genius Or Of Love, Now Repeated And Hardened Into Usage, They Form At Last A Rich Varnish, With Which The Routine Of Life Is Washed, And Its Details Adorned. If They Are Superficial, So Are The Dew-drops Which Give Such A Depth To The Morning Meadows.