New Arts Destroy The Old.

Rings And Other Jewels Are Not Gifts, But Apologies For Gifts. The Only Gift Is A Portion Of Thyself.

A Third Felicity Of Age Is That It Has Found Expression. The Youth Suffers Not Only From Ungratified Desires, But From Powers Untried, And From A Picture In His Mind Of A Career Which Has As Yet No Outward Reality. He Is Tormented With The Want Of Correspondence Between Things And Thoughts.

The Intellect,-that Is Miraculous! Who Has It, Has The Talisman: His Skin And Bones, Though They Were Of The Color Of Night, Are Transparent, And The Everlasting Stars Shine Through, With Attractive Beams.

The Lover Of Nature Is He Whose Inward And Outward Senses Are Still Truly Adjusted To Each Other; Who Has Retained The Spirit Of Infancy Even Into The Era Of Manhood. His Intercourse With Heaven And Earth, Becomes Part Of His Daily Food. In The Presence Of Nature, A Wild Delight Runs Through The Man, In Spite Of Real Sorrows.

The River Knows The Way To The Sea: Without A Pilot It Runs And Falls, Blessing All Lands With Its Charity.