Rides In The Whirlwind And

I Shall Endeavor To Enliven Morality With Wit, And To Temper Wit With Morality.

It Must Be So,-plato, Thou Reasonest Well! Else Whence This Pleasing Hope, This Fond Desire, This Longing After Immortality? Or Whence This Secret Dread And Inward Horror Of Falling Into Naught? Why Shrinks The Soul Back On Herself, And Startles At Destruction? 't Is The Divinity That Stirs Within Us; 't Is Heaven Itself That Points Out An Hereafter, And Intimates Eternity To Man. Eternity! Thou Pleasing, Dreadful Thought!

When A Woman Comes To Her Class, She Does Not Employ Her Time In Making Herself Look More Advantageously What She Really Is, But Endeavours To Be As Much Another Creature As She Possibly Can. Whether This Happens Because They Stay So Long And Attend Their Work So Diligently That They Forget The Faces And Persons, Which They First Sat Down With, Or Whatever It Is, They Seldom Rise From The Toilet The Same Woman They Appeared When They Began To Dress

I Consider Time As An In Immense Ocean, In Which Many Noble Authors Are Entirely Swallowed Up.

Books Are The Legacies That A Great Genius Leaves To Mankind, Which Are Delivered Down From Generation To Generation As Presents To The Posterity Of Those Who Are Yet Unborn.