It's A Fair Wind That Blew Men

No Man Knows What The Wife Of His Bosom Is Until He Has Gone With Her Through The Fiery Trials Of This World.

There Is Something Nobly Simple And Pure In A Taste For The Cultivation Of Forest Trees. It Argues, I Think, A Sweet And Generous Nature To Have His Strong Relish For The Beauties Of Vegetation, And This Friendship For The Hardy And Glorious Sons Of The Forest. He Who Plants A Tree Looks Forward To Future Ages, And Plants For Posterity. Nothing Could Be Less Selfish Than This.

Some Minds Corrode And Grow Inactive Under The Loss Of Personal Liberty; Others Grow Morbid And Irritable; But It Is The Nature Of The Poet To Become Tender And Imaginitive In The Loneliness Of Confinement. He Banquets Upon The Honey Of His Own Thoughts, And, Like The Captive Bird, Pours Forth His Soul In Melody.

There Is No Character In The Comedy Of Human Life More Difficult To Play Well Than That Of An Old Bachelor.

Some Minds Seem Almost To Create Themselves, Springing Up Under Every Disadvantage And Working Their Solitary But Irresistible Way Through A Thousand Obstacles.