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I Could Not But Smile To Think In What Out-of-the-way Corners Genius Produces Her Bantlings! And The Muses, Those Capricious Dames, Who, Forsooth, So Often Refuse To Visit Palaces, And Deny A Single Smile To Votaries In Splendid Studies, And Gilded Drawing-rooms--what Holes And Burrows Will They Frequent To Lavish Their Favors On Some Ragged Disciple!

-Washington Irving

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I Could Not But

Washington Irving

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I Could Not But Smile To Think In What Out-of-the-way Corners Genius Produces Her Bantlings! And The Muses, Those Capricious Dames, Who, Forsooth, So Often Refuse To Visit Palaces, And Deny A Single Smile To Votaries In Splendid Studies, And Gilded Drawing-rooms--what Holes And Burrows Will They Frequent To Lavish Their Favors On Some Ragged Disciple!

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The Englishman Is Too Apt To Neglect The Present Good In Preparing Against The Possible Evil.

Into The Space Of One Little Hour Sins Enough May Be Conjured Up By Evil Tongues To Blast The Fame Of A Whole Life Of Virtue.

The Easiest Thing To Do, Whenever You Fail, Is To Put Yourself Down By Blaming Your Lack Of Ability For Your Misfortunes.

There Is In Every True Woman's Heart, A Spark Of Heavenly Fire, Which Lies Dormant In The Broad Daylight Of Prosperity, But Which Kindles Up And Beams And Blazes In The Dark Hour Of Adversity.

He That Drinks Beer, Thinks Beer.

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.

Too Young For Woe, Though Not For Tears.

Oh The Grave!--the Grave!--it Buries Every Error--covers Every Defect--extinguishes Every Resentment! From Its Peaceful Bosom Spring None But Fond Regrets And Tender Recollections. Who Can Look Down Upon The Grave Even Of An Enemy, And Not Feel A Compunctious Throb, That He Should Ever Have Warred With The Poor Handful Of Earth That Lies Mouldering Before Him!

There Is A Serene And Settled Majesty To Woodland Scenery That Enters Into The Soul And Delights And Elevates It, And Fills It With Noble Inclinations.

A Woman's Whole Life Is A History Of The Affections.

History Is But A Kind Of Newgate Calendar, A Register Of The Crimes And Miseries That Man Has Inflicted On His Fellow-man.

One Of The Greatest And Simplest Tools For Learning More And Growing Is Doing More.

There's Nothing Like Being In Fashion. A Man That Has Once Got His Character Up For A Wit Is Always Sure Of A Laugh, Say What He May. He May Utter As Much Nonsense As He Pleases, And All Will Pass Current. No One Stops To Question The Coin Of A Rich Man; But A Poor Devil Cannot Pass Off Either A Joke Or A Guinea Without Its Being Examined On Both Sides. Wit And Coin Are Always Doubted With A Threadbare Coat.

The Only Happy Author In This World Is He Who Is Below The Care Of Reputation.

Christmas Is A Season For Kindling The Fire For Hospitality In The Hall, The Genial Flame Of Charity In The Heart.

A Father May Turn His Back On His Child, Brothers And Sisters May Become Inveterate Enemies, Husbands May Desert Their Wives, Wives Their Husbands. But A Mother's Love Endures Through All; In Good Repute, In Bad Repute, In The Face Of The World's Condemnation, A Mother Still Loves On, And Still Hopes That Her Child May Turn From His Evil Ways, And Repent; Still She Remembers The Infant Smiles That Once Filled Her Bosom With Rapture, The Merry Laugh, The Joyful Shout Of His Childhood, The Opening Promise Of His Youth; And She Can Never Be Brought To Think Him All Unworthy.

Those Who Are Well Assured Of Their Own Standing Are Least Apt To Trespass On That Of Others, Whereas Nothing Is So Offensive As The Aspirings Of Vulgarity Which Thinks To Elevate Itself By Humiliating Its Neighbor.

There Is A Majestic Grandeur In Tranquillity.

To One Given To Day-dreaming, And Fond Of Losing Himself In Reveries, A Sea-voyage Is Full Of Subjects For Meditation; But Then They Are The Wonders Of The Deep And Of The Air, And Rather Tend To Abstract The Mind From Worldly Themes.

It's A Fair Wind That Blew Men To Ale.

Angling Is An Amusement Peculiarly Adapted To The Mild And Cultivated Scenery Of England

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.

It Is Almost Startling To Hear This Warning Of Departed Time Sounding Among The Tombs, And Telling The Lapse Of The Hour, Which, Like A Billow, Has Rolled Us Onward Towards The Grave.

There Is Nothing In England That Exercises A More Delightful Spell Over My Imagination Than The Lingerings Of The Holiday Customs And Rural Games Of Former Times. They Recall The Pictures My Fancy Used To Draw In The May Morning Of Life, When As Yet I Only Knew The World Through Books, And Believed It To Be All That Poets Had Painted It; And They Bring With Them The Flavour Of Those Honest Days Of Yore, In Which, Perhaps With Equal Fallacy, I Am Apt To Think The World Was More Home-bred, Social, And Joyous Than At Present.

Wit, After All, Is A Mighty Tart, Pungent Ingredient, And Much Too Acid For Some Stomachs; But Honest Good Humor Is The Oil And Wine Of A Merry Meeting.

As The Vine Which Has Long Twined Its Graceful Foliage About The Oak And Been Lifted By It Into Sunshine, Will, When The Hardy Plant Is Rifted By The Thunderbolt, Cling Round It With Its Caressing Tendrils And Bind Up Its Shattered Boughs, So Is It Beautifully Ordered By Providence That Woman, Who Is The Mere Dependent And Ornament Of Man In His Happier Hours, Should Be His Stay And Solace When Smitten With Sudden Calamity, Winding Herself Into The Rugged Recesses Of His Nature, Tenderly Supporting The Drooping Head, And Binding Up The Broken Heart.

A Mother Is The Truest Friend We Have When Trials, Heavy And Sudden, Fall Upon Us; When Adversity Takes The Place Of Prosperity.

Mother Daughter

There Is A Sacredness In Tears

The Great British Library --an Immense Collection Of Volumes Of All Ages And Languages, Many Of Which Are Now Forgotten, And Most Of Which Are Seldom Read: One Of These Sequestered Pools Of Obsolete Literature To Which Modern Authors Repair, And Draw Buckets Full Of Classic Lore, Or Pure English, Undefiled Wherewith To Swell Their Own Scanty Rills Of Thought.

When Friends Grow Cold, And The Converse Of Intimates Languishes Into Vapid Civility And Commonplace, These Only Continue The Unaltered Countenance Of Happier Days, And Cheer Us With That True Friendship Which Never Deceived Hope, Nor Deserted Sorrow.

The Sorrow For The Dead Is The Only Sorrow From Which We Refuse To Be Divorced. Every Other Wound We Seek To Heal - Every Other Affliction To Forget: But This Wound We Consider It A Duty To Keep Open - This Affliction We Cherish And Brood Over In Solitude.

There Are Moments Of Mingled Sorrow And Tenderness, Which Hallow The Caresses Of Affection.

How Convenient It Would Be To Many Of Our Great Men And Great Families Of Doubtful Origin, Could They Have The Privilege Of The Heroes Of Yore, Who, Whenever Their Origin Was Involved In Obscurity, Modestly Announced Themselves Descended From A God.

There Is A Sacredness In Tears. They Are Not The Mark Of Weakness, But Of Power.

And If Unhappy In Her Love, Her Heart Is Like Some Fortress That Has Been Captured, And Sacked, And Abandoned, And Left Desolate.

Washington, In Fact, Had Very Little Private Life, But Was Eminently A Public Character.

There Is A Certain Artificial Polish, A Commonplace Vivacity Acquired By Perpetually Mingling In The Beau Monde; Which, In The Commerce Of World, Supplies The Place Of Natural Suavity And Good-humour, But Is Purchased At The Expense Of All Original And Sterling Traits Of Character.

Rising Genius Always Shoots Forth Its Rays From Among Clouds And Vapours, But These Will Gradually Roll Away And Disappear, As It Ascends To Its Steady And Meridian Lustre.

Honest Good Humor Is The Oil And Wine Of A Merry Meeting, And There Is No Jovial Companionship Equal To That Where The Jokes Are Rather Small And Laughter Abundant.

The Slanders Of The Pen Pierce To The Heart; They Rankle Longest In The Noblest Spirits; They Dwell Ever Present In The Mind And Render It Morbidly Sensitive To The Most Trifling Collision.

The Dullest Observer Must Be Sensible Of The Order And Serenity Prevalent In Those Households Where The Occasional Exercise Of A Beautiful Form Of Worship In The Morning Gives, As It Were, The Keynote To Every Temper For The Day, And Attunes Every Spirit To Harmony.

Love Is Never Lost. If Not Reciprocated, It Will Flow Back And Soften And Purify The Heart.

It Is Not Poverty So Much As Pretense That Harasses A Ruined Man - The Struggle Between A Proud Mind And An Empty Purse - The Keeping Up Of A Hollow Show That Must Soon Come To An End.

The Natural Principle Of War Is To Do The Most Harm To Our Enemy With The Least Harm To Ourselves; And This Of Course Is To Be Effected By Stratagem.

The Tongue Is The Only Instrument That Gets Sharper With Use.

There Is An Emanation From The Heart In Genuine Hospitality Which Cannot Be Described, But Is Immediately Felt And Puts The Stranger At Once At His Ease.

The Almighty Dollar, That Great Object Of Universal Devotion Throughout Our Land, Seems To Have No Genuine Devotees In These Peculiar Villages.

I Have Often Had Occasion To Remark The Fortitude With Which Women Sustain The Most Overwhelming Reverses Of Fortunes.

The Youthful Freshness Of A Blameless Heart.

Great Minds Have Purposes; Others Have Wishes.

Nature Seems To Delight In Disappointing The Assuduities Of Art, With Which It Would Rear Dulness To Maturity, And To Glory In The Vigor And Luxuriance Of Her Chance Productions. She Scatters The Seeds Of Genius To The Winds, And Though Some May Perish Among The Stony Places Of The World, And Some May Be Choked By The Thorns And Brambles Of Early Adversity, Yet Others Will Now And Then Strike Root Even In The Clefts Of The Rock, Struggle Bravely Up Into Sunshine, And Spread Over Their Sterile Birthplace All The Beauties Of Vegetation.

There Are Certain Half-dreaming Moods Of Mind In Which We Naturally Steal Away From Noise And Glare, And Seek Some Quiet Haunt Where We May Indulge Our Reveries And Build Our Air Castles Undisturbed.

There Rise Authors Now And Then, Who Seem Proof Against The Mutability Of Language, Because They Have Rooted Themselves In The Unchanging Principles Of Human Nature. They Are Like Gigantic Trees That We Sometimes See On The Banks Of A Stream; Which, By Their Vast And Deep Roots, Penetrating Through The Mere Surface, And Laying Hold On The Very Foundations Of The Earth, Preserve The Soil Around Them From Being Swept Away By The Ever-flowing Current, And Hold Up Many A Neighboring Plant, And Perhaps Worthless Weed, To Perpetuity.

The Land Of Literature Is A Fairy Land To Those Who View It At A Distance, But, Like All Other Landscapes, The Charm Fades On A Nearer Approach, And The Thorns And Briars Become Visible.

No Man Is So Methodical As A Complete Idler, And None So Scrupulous In Measuring Out His Time As He Whose Time Is Worth Nothing.

For What Is History, But... Huge Libel On Human Nature, To Which We Industriously Add Page After Page, Volume After Volume, As If We Were Holding Up A Monument To The Honor, Rather Than The Infamy Of Our Species.

Those Men Are Most Apt To Be Obsequious And Conciliating Abroad, Who Are Under The Discipline Of Shrews At Home.

After All, It Is The Divinity Within That Makes The Divinity Without.

I Value This Delicious Home-feeling As One Of The Choicest Gifts A Parent Can Bestow.

I've Had It With You And Your Emotional Constipation!

Her Mighty Lakes, Like Oceans Of Liquid Silver; Her Mountains With Their Right Aerial Tints; Her Valleys, Teeming With Wild Fertility; Her Tremendous Cataracts, Thundering In Their Solitudes; Her Boundless Plains, Waving With Spontaneous Verdure; Her Brought Deep Rivers, Rolling In Solemn Silence To The Ocean; Her Trackless Forests, Where Vegetation Puts Forth All Its Magnificence; Her Skies, Kindling Waves In The Magic Of The Summer Clouds And Glorious Sunshine;-no, Never Need An American Look Beyond His Own Country For The Sublime And Beautiful Of Natural Scenery.

The Moan Of The Whip-poor-will From The Hillside; The Boding Cry Of The Tree-toad, That Harbinger Of Storm; The Dreary Hooting Of The Screechowl.

I Sometimes Think One Of The Great Blessings We Shall Enjoy In Heaven, Will Be To Receive Letters By Every Post And Never Be Obliged To Reply To Them.

Men Are Always Doomed To Be Duped, Not So Much By The Arts Of The Other As By Their Own Imagination. They Are Always Wooing Goddesses, And Marrying Mere Mortals.

After A Man Passes 60 , His Mischief Is Mainly In His Head

It Was The Policy Of The Good Old Gentleman To Make His Children Feel That Home Was The Happiest Place In The World; And I Value This Delicious Home-feeling As One Of The Choicest Gifts A Parent Can Bestow.

Society Is Like A Lawn, Where Every Roughness Is Smoothed, Every Bramble Eradicated, And Where The Eye Is Delighted By The Smiling Verdure Of A Velvet Surface

How We Delight To Build Our Recollections Upon Some Basis Of Reality,--a Place, A Country, A Local Habitation! How The Events Of Life, As We Look Back Upon Them, Have Grown Into The Well-remembered Background Of The Places Where They Fell Upon Us! Here Is Some Sunny Garden Or Summer Lane, Beautified And Canonized Forever, With The Flood Of A Great Joy; And Here Are Dim And Silent Places,--rooms Always Shadowed And Dark To Us, Whatever They May Be To Others,--where Distress Or Death Came Once, And Since Then Dwells Forevermore.

It Lightens The Stroke To Draw Near To Him Who Handles The Rod.

Little Minds Are Tamed And Subdued By Misfortune; But Great Minds Rise Above Them.

A Woman's Whole Life Is A History Of The Affections. The Heart Is Her World: It Is There Her Ambition Strives For Empire; It Is There Her Avarice Seeks For Hidden Treasures. She Sends Forth Her Sympathies On Adventure; She Embarks Her Whole Soul On The Traffic Of Affection; And If Shipwrecked, Her Case Is Hopeless — For It Is A Bankruptcy Of The Heart.

Every Antique Farm-house And Moss-grown Cottage Is A Picture.

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

The Love Of A Mother Is Never Exhausted. It Never Changes - It Never Tires - It Endures Through All; In Good Repute, In Bad Repute. In The Face Of The World's Condemnation, A Mother's Love Still Lives On.

The Paternal Hearth, The Rallying-place Of The Affections.

How Idle A Boast, After All, Is The Immortality Of A Name! Time Is Ever Silently Turning Over His Pages; We Are Too Much Engrossed By The Story Of The Present To Think Of The Character And Anecdotes That Gave Interest To The Past; And Each Age Is A Volume Thrown Aside And Forgotten.

A Few Amber Clouds Floated In The Sky Without A Breath Of Air To Move Them. The Horizon Was Of A Fine Golden Tint, Changing Gradually Into A Pure Apple-green, And From That Into The Deep Blue Of The Mid-heaven.

With Every Exertion, The Best Of Men Can Do But A Moderate Amount Of Good; But It Seems In The Power Of The Most Contemptible Individual To Do Incalculable Mischief.

There Is A Remembrance Of The Dead To Which We Turn Even From The Charms Of The Living.

Nothing Impresses The Mind With A Deeper Feeling Of Loneliness Than To Tread The Silent And Deserted Scene Of Former Throng And Pageant.

The Almighty Dollar, That Great Object Of Universal Devotion.

He Who Wins A Thousand Common Hearts Is Entitled To Some Renown; But He Who Keeps Undisputed Sway Over The Heart Of A Coquette Is Indeed A Hero.

There Was One Species Of Despotism Under Which He Had Long Groaned, And That Was Petticoat Government.

He Who Would Greatly Deserve Must Greatly Dare.

Marriage Is The Torment Of One, The Felicity Of Two, The Strife And Enmity Of Three.

Small Minds Are Subdued By Misfortunes, Greater Minds Overcome Them.

Who Ever Hears Of Fat Men Heading A Riot, Or Herding Together In Turbulent Mobs? No - No, Your Lean, Hungry Men Who Are Continually Worrying Society, And Setting The Whole Community By The Ears.

Nothing Can Be More Touching Than To Behold A Soft And Tender Female, Who Had Been All Weakness And Dependence, And Alive To Every Trivial Roughness While Treading The Prosperous Paths Of Life, Suddenly Rising In Mental Force To Be The Comforter And Supporter Of Her Husband Under Misfortune, And Abiding With Unshrinking Firmness The Bitterest Blast Of Adversity.

I Was Always Fond Of Visiting New Scenes, And Observing Strange Characters And Manners. Even When A Mere Child I Began My Travels, And Made Many Tours Of Discovery Into Foreign Parts And Unknown Regions Of My Native City, To The Frequent Alarm Of My Parents, And The Emolument Of The Town-crier.

The Sorrow For The Dead Is The Only Sorrow From Which We Refuse To Be Divorced.

Sweet Is The Memory Of Distant Friends! Like The Mellow Rays Of The Departing Sun, It Falls Tenderly, Yet Sadly, On The Heart.

All These, However, Were Mere Terrors Of The Night, Phantoms Of The Mind That Walk In Darkness; And Though He Had Seen Many Spectres In His Time, And Been More Than Once Beset By Satan In Divers Shapes, In His Lonely Pre-ambulations, Yet Daylight Put An End To All These Evils; And He Would Have Passed A Pleasent Life Of It, In Despite Of The Devil And All His Works, If His Path Had Not Been Crossed By A Being That Causes More Perplexity To Mortal Man Than Ghosts, Goblins, And The Whole Race Of Witches Put Together, And That Was - A Woman.

The Scholar Only Knows How Dear These Silent, Yet Eloquent, Companions Of Pure Thoughts And Innocent Hours Become In The Season Of Adversity. When All That Is Worldly Turns To Dross Around Us, These Only Retain Their Steady Value.

I Have Never Found, In Anything Outside Of The Four Walls Of My Study, An Enjoyment Equal To Sitting At My Writing Desk With A Clean Page, A New Theme, And A Mind Awake.

A Kind Heart Is A Fountain Of Gladness, Making Everything In Its Vicinity Freshen Into Smiles.

Enthusiasts Soon Understand Each Other.

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

Language Gradually Varies, And With It Fade Away The Writings Of Authors Who Have Flourished Their Allotted Time; Otherwise, The Creative Powers Of Genius Would Overstock The World, And The Mind Would Be Completely Bewildered In The Endless Mazes Of Literature.

To Look Upon Its Grass Grown Yard, Where The Sunbeams Seem To Sleep So Quietly, One Would Think That There At Least The Dead Might Rest In Peace.

Villainy Wears Many Masks; None So Dangerous As The Mask Of Virtue.

There Is Certain Relief In Change, Even Though It Be From Bad To Worse! As I Have Often Found In Traveling In A Stagecoach, That It Is Often A Comfort To Shift One's Position, And Be Bruised In A New Place.

People Changing

Young Lawyers Attend The Courts, Not Because They Have Business There, But Because They Have No Business.

What Earnest Worker, With Hand And Brain For The Benefit Of His Fellowmen, Could Desire A More Pleasing Recognition Of His Usefulness Than The Monument Of A Tree, Ever Growing, Ever Blooming, And Ever Bearing Wholesome Fruit?

Sometimes The Table Was Graced With Immense Apple-pies, Or Saucers Full Of Preserved Peaches And Pears; But It Was Always Sure To Boast An Enormous Dish Of Balls Of Sweetened Dough, Fried In Hog's Fat, And Called Doughnuts, Or Olykoeks - A Delicious Kind Of Cake, At Present Scarce Known In This City, Except In Genuine Dutch Families.

A Tart Temper Never Mellows With Age, And A Sharp Tongue Is The Only Edged Tool That Grows Keener With Constant Use.

An Inexhaustible Good Nature Is One Of The Most Precious Gifts Of Heaven, Spreading Itself Like Oil Over The Troubled Sea Of Thought, And Keeping The Mind Smooth And Equable In The Roughest Weather.

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

The Idol Of Today Pushes The Hero Of Yesterday Out Of Our Recollection; And Will, In Turn, Be Supplanted By His Successor Of Tomorrow.

He Is The True Enchanter, Whose Spell Operates, Not Upon The Senses, But Upon The Imagination And The Heart.

History Fades Into Fable; Fact Becomes Clouded With Doubt And Controversy; The Inscription Molders From The Tablet: The Statue Falls From The Pedestal. Columns, Arches, Pyramids, What Are They But Heaps Of Sand; And Their Epitaphs, But Characters Written In The Dust?

Sometimes He Spent Hours Together In The Great Libraries Of Paris, Those Catacombs Of Departed Authors, Rummaging Among Their Hoards Of Dusty And Obsolete Works In Quest Of Food For His Unhealthy Appetite. He Was, In A Manner, A Literary Ghoul, Feeding In The Charnel-house Of Decayed Literature.

There Is Something Nobly Simple And Pure In A Taste For The Cultivation Of Forest Trees.

A Father May Turn His Back On His Child, Brothers And Sisters May Become Inveterate Enemies, Husbands May Desert Their Wives, Wives Their Husbands. But A Mother's Love Endures Through All.

There Is Certainly Something In Angling That Tends To Produce A Serenity Of The Mind.

A Mother Is The Truest Friend We Have, When Trials Heavy And Sudden Fall Upon Us; When Adversity Takes The Place Of Prosperity; When Friends Desert Us; When Trouble Thickens Around Us, Still Will She Cling To Us, And Endeavor By Her Kind Precepts And Counsels To Dissipate The Clouds Of Darkness, And Cause Peace To Return To Our Hearts.

The Tie Which Links Mother And Child Is Of Such Pure And Immaculate Strength As To Be Never Violated, Except By Those Whose Feelings Are Withered By Vitiated Society. Holy, Simple, And Beautiful In Its Construction, It Is The Emblem Of All We Can Imagine Of Fidelity And Truth.

There Rise Authors Now And Then, Who Seem Proof Against The Mutability Of Language, Because They Have Rooted Themselves In The Unchanging Principles Of Human Nature.

It Is Not Poverty So Much As Pretense That Harasses A Ruined Man.

In Civilized Life, Where The Happiness, And Indeed Almost The Existence, Of Man Depends So Much Upon The Opinion Of His Fellow Men, He Is Constantly Acting A Studied Part.

There Is A Healthful Hardiness About Real Dignity That Never Dreads Contact And Communion With Others However Humble.

Good Temper, Like A Sunny Day, Sheds A Ray Of Brightness Over Everything; It Is The Sweetener Of Toil And The Soother Of Disquietude!

Surely Happiness Is Reflective, Like The Light Of Heaven; And Every Countenance, Bright With Smiles, And Glowing With Innocent Enjoyment, Is A Mirror Transmitting To Others The Rays Of A Supreme And Ever-shining Benevolence.

It Is The Divine Attribute Of The Imagination, That It Is Irrepressible, Unconfinable; That When The Real World Is Shut Out, It Can Create A World For Itself, And With A Necromantic Power Can Conjure Up Glorious Shapes And Forms, And Brilliant Visions To Make Solitude Populous, And Irradiate The Gloom Of A Dungeon.

It Was Shakespeare's Notion That On This Day Birds Begin To Couple; Hence Probably Arose The Custom Of Sending Fancy Love-billets.

To Occupy An Inch Of Dusty Shelf-to Have The Title Of Their Works Read Now And Then In A Future Age By Some Drowsy Churchman Or Casual Straggler, And In Another Age To Be Lost, Even To Remembrance. Such Is The Amount Of Boasted Immortality.

There Is An Enduring Tenderness In The Love Of A Mother To A Son That Trancends All Other Affections Of The Heart

My Father Died And Left Me His Blessing And His Business. His Blessing Brought No Money Into My Pocket, And As To His Business, It Soon Deserted Me, For I Was Busy Writing Poetry, And Could Not Attend To Law, And My Clients, Though They Had Great Respect For My Talents, Had No Faith In A Poetical Attorney.

Of All The Old Festivals, However, That Of Christmas Awakens The Strongest And Most Heartfelt Associations. There Is A Tone Of Solemn And Sacred Feeling That Blends With Our Conviviality, And Lifts The Sprit To A State Of Hallowed And Elevated Enjoyment.

Poetry Is Evidently A Contagious Complaint.

There Is Never Jealousy Where There Is Not Strong Regard.

From Its Peaceful Bosom Spring None But Fond Regrets And Tender Recollections.

Christmas Is Here, Merry Old Christmas, Gift-bearing Christmas, Day Of Grand Memories, King Of The Year!

Nature Seems To Delight In Disappointing The Assiduities Of Art, With Which It Would Rear Legitimate Dulness To Maturity; And To Glory In The Vigour And Luxuriance Of Her Chance Productions.

They Who Drink Beer Will Think Beer.

When The Gauls Laid Waste Rome, They Found The Senators Clothed In Their Robes, And Seated In Stern Tranquillity In Their Curule Chairs; In This Manner They Suffered Death Without Resistance Or Supplication. Such Conduct Was In Them Applauded As Noble And Magnanimous; In The Hapless Indians It Was Reviled As Both Obstinate And Sullen. How Truly Are We The Dupes Of Show And Circumstances! How Different Is Virtue, Clothed In Purple And Enthroned In State, From Virtue, Naked And Destitute, And Perishing Obscurely In A Wilderness.

I Consider A Story Merely As A Frame On Which To Stretch My Materials.

After All, It Is The Divinity Within That Makes The Divinity Without; And I Have Been More Fascinated By A Woman Of Talent And Intelligence, Though Deficient In Personal Charms, Than I Have Been By The Most Regular Beauty.

A Father May Turn His Back On His Child, … . But A Mother's Love Endures Through All.

He Who Would Study Nature In Its Wildness And Variety, Must Plunge Into The Forest, Must Explore The Glen, Must Stem The Torrent, And Dare The Precipice.

Over No Nation Does The Press Hold A More Absolute Control Than Over The People Of America, For The Universal Education Of The Poorest Classes Makes Every Individual A Reader.

Acting Provides The Fulfillment Of Never Being Fulfilled. You're Never As Good As You'd Like To Be. So There's Always Something To Hope For.

Every Desire Bears Its Death In Its Very Gratification. Curiosity Languishes Under Repeated Stimulants, And Novelties Cease To Excite And Surprise, Until At Length We Cannot Wonder Even At A Miracle.

[i]n The Gloomy Month Of February.... The Deserts Of Arabia Are Not More Dreary And Inhospitable Than The Streets Of London At Such A Time.

It Was, As I Have Said, A Fine Autumnal Day; The Sky Was Clear And Serene, And Nature Wore That Rich And Golden Livery Which We Always Associate With The Idea Of Abundance. The Forests Had Put On Their Sober Brown And Yellow, While Some Trees Of The Tendered Kind Had Been Nipped By The Frosts Into Brilliant Dyes Of Orange, Purple, And Scarlet.

Other Men Are Known To Posterity Only Through The Medium Of History, Which Is Continually Growing Faint And Obscure; But The Intercourse Between The Author And His Fellow-men Is Ever New, Active, And Immediate.

One Point Is Certain, That Truth Is One And Immutable; Until The Jurors All Agree, They Cannot All Be Right.

True Love Will Not Brook Reserve; It Feels Undervalued And Outraged, When Even The Sorrows Of Those It Loves Are Concealed From It.

The Tie Which Links Mother And Child Is Of Such Pure And Immaculate Strength As To Be Never Violated.

Redundancy Of Language Is Never Found With Deep Reflection. Verbiage May Indicate Observation, But Not Thinking. He Who Thinks Much Says But Little In Proportion To His Thoughts.

Jealous People Poison Their Own Banquet And Then Eat It

Man Passes Away; His Name Perishes From Record And Recollection; His History Is As A Tale That Is Told, And His Very Monument Becomes A Ruin.

I Am Always At A Loss At How Much To Believe Of My Own Stories.

I Profess Not To Know How Women's Hearts Are Wooed And Won. To Me They Have Always Been Matters Of Riddle And Admiration.

The Indians With Surprise Found The Mouldering Trees Of Their Forests Suddenly Teeming With Ambrosial Sweet; And Nothing, I Am Told, Can Exceed The Greedy Relish With Which They Banquet For The First Time Upon This Unbought Luxury Of The Wilderness.

A Mother Is The Truest Friend We Have.

He Who Thinks Much Says But Little In Proportion To His Thoughts. He Selects That Language Which Will Convey His Ideas In The Most Explicit And Direct Manner.

Poetry Had Breathed Over And Sanctified The Land.

Surely Happiness Is Reflective, Like The Light Of Heaven.

If I Can, By A Lucky Chance, In These Uneasy Days, Rub Out One Wrinkle From The Brow Of Care, Or Beguile The Heavy Heart Of One Moment Of Sadness; If I Can, How And Then, Prompt A Happier View Of Human Nature, And Make My Reader More In Good Humor With His Fellow-beings And Himself, Surely, I Shall Not Have Written In Vain.

Inspirational Life

The Literary World Is Made Up Of Little Confederacies, Each Looking Upon Its Own Members As The Lights Of The Universe; And Considering All Others As Mere Transient Meteors, Doomed To Soon Fall And Be Forgotten, While Its Own Luminaries Are To Shine Steadily Into Immortality.

In Civilized Life, Where The Happiness, And Indeed Almost The Existence, Of Man Depends So Much Upon The Opinion Of His Fellow-men, He Is Constantly Acting A Studied Part. The Bold And Peculiar Traits Of Native Character Are Refined Away Or Softened Down By The Levelling Influence Of What Is Termed Good-breeding, And He Practises So Many Petty Deceptions And Affects So Many Generous Sentiments For The Purposes Of Popularity That It Is Difficult To Distinguish His Real From His Artificial Character.

Believe Me, The Man Who Earns His Bread By The Sweat Of His Brow, Eats Oftener A Sweeter Morsel, However Coarse, Than He Who Procures It By The Labor Of His Brains.

By A Kind Of Fashionable Discipline, The Eye Is Taught To Brighten, The Lip To Smile, And The Whole Countenance To Emanate With The Semblance Of Friendly Welcome, While The Bosom Is Unwarmed By A Single Spark Of Genuine Kindness And Good-will.

The Natural Effect Of Sorrow Over The Dead Is To Refine And Elevate The Mind.

There Is A Sacredness In Tears. They Are Not The Mark Of Weakness, But Of Power. They Speak More Eloquently Than Ten Thousand Tongues. They Are The Messengers Of Overwhelming Grief, Of Deep Contrition, And Of Unspeakable Love.

He Who Thinks Much Says But Little In Proportion To His Thoughts. He Selects That Language Which Will Convey His Ideas In The Most Explicit And Direct Manner. He Tries To Compress As Much Thought As Possible Into A Few Words. On The Contrary, The Man Who Talks Everlastingly And Promiscuously, Who Seems To Have An Exhaustless Magazine Of Sound, Crowds So Many Words Into His Thoughts That He Always Obscures, And Very Frequently Conceals Them.

The Very Difference Of Character In Marriage Produces A Harmonious Combination.

The Oil And Wine Of Merry Meeting.

It Is But Seldom That Any One Overt Act Produces Hostilities Between Two Nations; There Exists, More Commonly, A Previous Jealousy And Ill Will, A Predisposition To Take Offense.

A Barking Dog Is Often More Useful Than A Sleeping Lion.

Critics Are A Kind Of Freebooters In The Republic Of Letters--who, Like Deer, Goats And Divers Other Graminivorous Animals, Gain Subsistence By Gorging Upon Buds And Leaves Of The Young Shrubs Of The Forest, Thereby Robbing Them Of Their Verdure, And Retarding Their Progress To Maturity.

The Dance, Like Most Dances After Supper, Was A Merry One; Some Of The Older Folks Joined In It, And The Squire Himself Figured Down Several Couple With A Partner, With Whom He Affirmed He Had Danced At Every Christmas For Nearly Half A Century.

I Could Not But Smile To Think In What Out-of-the-way Corners Genius Produces Her Bantlings! And The Muses, Those Capricious Dames, Who, Forsooth, So Often Refuse To Visit Palaces, And Deny A Single Smile To Votaries In Splendid Studies, And Gilded Drawing-rooms--what Holes And Burrows Will They Frequent To Lavish Their Favors On Some Ragged Disciple!

It Is Worthy To Note, That The Early Popularity Of Washington Was Not The Result Of Brilliant Achievement Nor Signal Success; On The Contrary, It Rose Among Trials And Reverses, And May Almost Be Said To Have Been The Fruit Of Defeat.

Others May Write From The Head, But He Writes From The Heart, And The Heart Will Always Understand Him.

A Woman Is More Considerate In Affairs Of Love Than A Man; Because Love Is More The Study And Business Of Her Life.

There Is A Certain Relief In Change, Even Though It Be From Bad To Worse.

People Changing

Speculation Is The Romance Of Trade, And Casts Contempt Upon On All Its Sober Realities. It Renders The Stock-jobber A Magician, And The Exchange A Region Of Enchantment.

Luxury Spreads Its Ample Board Before Their Eyes; But They Are Excluded From The Banquet. Plenty Revels Over The Fields; But Theyare Starving In The Midst Of Its Abundance: The Whole Wilderness Has Blossomed Into A Garden; But They Feel As Reptiles That Infest It.

Native American

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