Perfection Is The Measure Of

As Man Is, So Is His God. And Thus Is God Oft Strangely Odd.

What Is Now The Foliage Moving? Air Is Still, And Hush'd The Breeze, Sultriness, This Fullness Loving, Through The Thicket, From The Trees. Now The Eye At Once Gleams Brightly, See! The Infant Band With Mirth Moves And Dances Nimbly, Lightly, As The Morning Gave It Birth, Flutt'ring Two And Two O'er Earth.

Patriotism Ruins History.

In Society Every Man Is Taken For What He Gives Himself Out To Be; But He Must Give Himself Out To Be Something. Better To Be Slightly Disagreeable Than Altogether Insignificant.

There Is No Trifling With Nature; It Is Always True, Grave, And Severe; It Is Always In The Light, And The Faults And Errors Fall To Our Share. It Defies Incompetency, But Reveals Its Secrets To The Competent, The Truthful, And The Pure.