Who loves a garden, still his Eden keeps, Perennial pleasures plants, and wholesome harvests reaps.

Strengthen me by sympathizing with my strength, not my weakness.

Time ripens the substance of a life as the seasons mellow and perfect its fruits. The best apples fall latest and keep longest.

One does not see his thought distinctly till it is reflected in the image of another's.

Ideas in the head set hands about their several tasks.

Good-humor, gay spirits, are the liberators, the sure cure for spleen and melancholy. Deeper than tears, these irradiate the tophets with their glad heavens. Go laugh, vent the pits, transmuting imps into angels by the alchemy of smiles. The satans flee at the sight of these redeemers.

Debate is masculine, conversation is feminine.