Common sense in an uncommon degree is what the world calls wisdom.

How inimitably graceful children are in general-before they learn to dance.

In what way, or by what manner of working, God changes a soul from evil to good, how He impregnates the barren rock--the priceless gems and gold--is to the human mind an impenetrable mystery, in all cases alike.

A mother is a mother still, The holiest thing alive.

A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.

The once red leaf, the last of its clan, that dances as often as dance it can.

My case is a species of madness, only that it is a derangement of the Volition, and not of the intellectual faculties.