I Am Persuaded There Is No Such

The Fish Is Swift, Small-needing, Vague Yet Clear, A Cold, Sweet, Silver Life, Wrapped In Round Waves.

Affection, Like Melancholy, Magnifies Trifles; But The Magnifying Of The One Is Like Looking Through A Telescope At Heavenly Objects; That Of The Other, Like Enlarging Monsters With A Microscope.

God Made Both Tears And Laughter, And Both For Kind Purposes; For As Laughter Enables Mirth And Surprise To Breathe Freely, So Tears Enable Sorrow To Vent Itself Patiently. Tears Hinder Sorrow From Becoming Despair And Madness.

O Scaly, Slippery, Wet, Swift, Staring Wights, What Is 't Ye Do? What Life Lead? Eh, Dull Goggles? How Do Ye Vary Your Vile Days And Nights? How Pass Your Sundays? Are Ye Still But Joggles In Ceaseless Wash? Still Nought But Gapes And Bites, And Drinks, And Stares, Diversified With Boggles.

I Loved My Friend For His Gentleness, His Candor, His Good Repute, His Freedom Even From My Own Livelier Manner, His Calm And Reasonable Kindness. It Was Not Any Particular Talent That Attracted Me To Him, Or I Anything Striking Whatsoever. I Should Say In One Word, It Was His Goodness.