Music Is The Poor Man's Parnassus.

It Is A Mischievous Notion That We Are Come Late Into Nature; That The World Was Finished A Long Time Ago. As The World Was Plastic And Fluid In The Hands Of God, So It Is Ever To So Much Of His Attributes As We Bring To It. To Ignorance And Sin, It Is Flint. They Adapt To Themselves To It As They May; But In Proportion As A Man Has Anything In Him Divine, The Firmament Flows Before Him And Takes His Signet And Form.

A Cheerful Intelligent Face Is The End Of Culture, And Success Enough. For It Indicates The Purpose Of Nature And Wisdom Attained.

We Are By Nature Observers, And Thereby Learners. That Is Our Permanent State.

When The Eyes Say One Thing, And The Tongue Another, A Practiced Man Relies On The Language Of The First.

A Weed Is A Plant We've Found No Use For Yet.