Light Is, Perhaps, The Most

Jenny Kissed Me When We Met, Jumping From The Chair She Sat In; Time, You Thief, Who Love To Get Sweets Into Your List, Put That In: Say I'm Weary, Say I'm Sad, Say That Health And Wealth Have Missed Me, Say I'm Growing Old, But Add-- Jenny Kissed Me!

Wit Is The Clash And Reconcilement Of Incongruities; The Meeting Of Extremes Round A Corner.

The Drama Is Not A Mere Copy Of Nature, Not A Facsimile. It Is The Free Running Hand Of Genius, Under The Impression Of Its Liveliest Wit Or Most Passionate Impulses, A Thousand Times Adorning Or Feeling All As It Goes; And You Must Read It, As The Healthy Instinct Of Audiences Almost Always Does, If The Critics Will Let Them Alone, With A Grain Of Allowance, And A Tendency To Go Away With As Much Of It For Use As Is Necessary, And The Rest For The Luxury Of Laughter, Pity, Or Poetical Admiration.

Night's Deepest Gloom Is But A Calm; That Soothes The Weary Mind: The Labored Days Restoring Balm; The Comfort Of Mankind.

Mankind Are Creatures Of Books, As Well As Of Other Circumstances; And Such They Eternally Remain,--proofs, That The Race Is A Noble And Believing Race, And Capable Of Whatever Books Can Stimulate.