A weed is no more than a flower in disguise.

The idol is the measure of the worshipper.

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.

The foolish and the dead alone never change their opinions.

Nature, they say, doth dote, And cannot make a man Save on some worn-out plan, Repeating us by rote.

And blessed are the horny hands of toil.

Then to side with Truth is noble when we share her wretched crust, Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and 't is prosperous to be just; Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside, Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is crucified.