Love Is The Enchanted Dawn Of Every

Silence,--the Applause Of Real And Durable Impressions.

The Impartiality Of History Is Not That Of The Mirror, Which Merely Reflects Objects, But Of The Judge, Who Sees, Listens, And Decides.

Void Of Freedom, What Would Virtue Be?

Music Is The Literature Of The Heart; It Commences Where Speech Ends.

Eloquence Dwells Quite As Much In The Hearts Of The Hearers As On The Lips Of The Orator.