May is a pious fraud of the almanac.

Light is the symbol of truth.

The very gnarliest and hardest of hearts has some musical strings in it; but they are tuned differently in every one of us.

Tyrants are but the spawn of Ignorance, Begotten by the slaves they trample on.

He gives us the very quintessence of perception,-the clearly crystalized precipitation of all that is most precious in the ferment of impression after the impertinent and obtrusive particulars have evaporated from the memory.

It is the vain endeavor to make ourselves what we are not that has strewn history with so many broken purposes and lives left in the rough.

There is no self-delusion more fatal than that which makes the conscience dreamy with the anodyne of lofty sentiments, while the life is groveling and sensual