Books, - lighthouses erected in the great sea of time, - books, the precious depositories of the thoughts and creations of genius, - books, by whose sorcery times past become time present, and the whole pageantry of the world's history moves in solemn procession before our eyes; - these were to visit the firesides of the humble, and lavish the treasures of the intellect upon the poor.
Well, it's a marvelous night for a Moondance With the stars up above in your eyes... And I'm trying to please to the calling Of your heart-strings that they play soft and low And all the night's magic seems to whisper and hush And all the soft moonlight seems to shine in your blush... One more Moondance with you in the moonlight On a magic night
A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes across his mind from within, more than the luster of the firmament of bards and sages. Yet he dismisses without notice his thought, because it is his. In every work of genius we recognize our own rejected thoughts; they come back to us with a certain alienated majesty.