What is mind? No matter. What is matter? Never mind. What is the soul? It is immaterial.
Experience enables me to depose to the comfort and blessing that literature can prove in seasons of sickness and sorrow.
Oh, if it be to choose and call thee mine, love, thou art every day my Valentine!
Alas for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun!
My books kept me from the ring, the dog-pit, the tavern, and the saloon.
When Eve upon the first of Men The apple press'd with specious cant, Oh! what a thousand pities then That Adam was not Adamant!