Today is the blocks with which we build.

These stars of earth, these golden flowers.

This is the place. Stand still, my steed,- Let me review the scene, And summon from the shadowy past The forms that once have been.

Many readers judge of the power of a book by the shock it gives their feelings - as some savage tribes determine the power of muskets by their recoil; that being considered best which fairly prostrates the purchaser.

It is foolish to pretend that one is fully recovered from a disappointed passion. Such wounds always leave a scar.

The story, from beginning to end, I found again in a heart of a friend.

Authors must not, like Chinese soldiers, expect to win victories by turning somersets in the air.