Good bye, proud world! I'm going home; Thou art not my friend, and I'm not thine

Nature magically suits a man to his fortunes, by making them the fruit of his character.

Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown, Of thee, from the hill-top looking down; And the heifer, that lows in the upland farm, Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm; The sexton tolling the bell at noon, Dreams not that great Napoleon Sto

The ship of heaven guides itself and will not accept a wooden rudder.

Expediency of literature, reason of literature, lawfulness of writing down a thought, is questioned; much is to say on both sides,and, while the fight waxes hot, thou, dearest scholar, stick to thy foolish task, add a line every hour, and between whiles add a line.

But what is classification but the perceiving that these objects are not chaotic, and are not foreign, but have a law which is also the law of the human mind?

Our knowledge is the amassed thought and experience of innumerable minds.