I Look On That Man As Happy,

With Consistency A Great Soul Has Simply Nothing To Do. He May As Well Concern Himself With His Shadow On The Wall.

The Only Gift Is A Portion Of Thyself . . . The Poet Brings His Poem; The Shepherd His Lamb. . . .

Nature Never Rhymes Her Children, Nor Makes Two Men Alike. When We See A Great Man, We Fancy A Resemblance To Some Historical Person, And Predict The Sequel Of His Character And Fortune, A Result Which He Is Sure To Disappoint. None Will Ever Solve The Problem Of His Character According To Our Prejudice, But Only In His High Unprecedented Way.

The Babe In Arms Is A Channel Through Which The Energies We Call Fate, Love, And Reason Visibly Stream.

God Evidently Does Not Intend Us All To Be Rich, Or Powerful Or Great, But He Does Intend Us All To Be Friends.