That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, lest you should think he never could recapture the first fine careless rapture!

Who hears music feels his solitude peopled at once.

Talent should minister to genius.

But what if I fail of my purpose here? It is but to keep the nerves at strain, to dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall, and baffled, get up and begin again.

Women hate a debt as men a gift.

I see my way as birds their trackless way. I shall arrive,- what time, what circuit first, I ask not; but unless God send his hail Or blinding fire-balls, sleet or stifling snow, In some time, his good time, I shall arrive: He guides me and the bird. In his good time.

Most progress is most failure.