A Woman's Hopes Are Woven Of Sunbeams;

You Are A Good Young Man," She Said. "but I Do Not Like Husbands. I Will Never Have Another.

The Soul Of Man, When It Gets Fairly Rotten, Will Bear You All Sorts Of Poisonous Toad-stools, And No Eye Can See Whence Came The Seed Thereof.

Knowledge Slowly Builds Up What Ignorance In An Hour Pulls Down.

In The Vain Laughter Of Folly Wisdom Hears Half Its Applause.

The Worst Of Misery Is When A Nature Framed For Noblest Things Condemns Itself In Youth To Petty Joys, And, Sore Athirst For Air, Breathes Scanty Life Gasping From Out The Shallows.