There are three things which the public will always clamour for, sooner or later; namely: novelty, novelty, novelty.

How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!

There is a silence where hath been no sound, There is a silence where no sound may be,- In the cold grave, under the deep, deep sea, Or in the wide desert where no life is found.

He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way, Tormenting himself with his prickles.

Some dreams we have are nothing else but dreams, Unnatural and full of contradictions; Yet others of our most romantic schemes, Are something more than fictions.

When was ever honey made with one bee in a hive?

Experience enables me to depose to the comfort and blessing that literature can prove in seasons of sickness and sorrow.