He kissed me hard, as though he'd pluck up kisses by the roots that grew upon my lips.--_Shakespeare._

The lips of a fool swallow up himself.--_Bible._

~Literature.~--Literature happens to be the only occupation in which wages are not given in proportion to the goodness of the work done.--_Froude._

The literature of a people must spring from the sense of its nationality; and nationality is impossible without self-respect, and self-respect is impossible without liberty.--_Mrs. Stowe._

Cleverness is a sort of genius for instrumentality. It is the brain of the hand. In literature, cleverness is more frequently accompanied by wit, genius, and sense, than by humor.--_Coleridge._

When literature is the sole business of life, it becomes a drudgery.

When we are able to resort to it only at certain hours, it is a charming relaxation. In my earlier days I was a banker's clerk, obliged to be at the desk everyday from ten till five o'clock; and I shall never forget the delight with which, on returning home, I used to read and write during the evening.--_Rogers._

Literary history is the great morgue where all seek the dead ones whom they love, or to whom they are related.--_Heinrich Heine._

Whatever the skill of any country be in sciences, it is from excellence in polite learning alone that it must expect a character from posterity.--_Goldsmith._

~Logic.~--Logic differeth from rhetoric as the fist from the palm; the one close, the other at large.--_Bacon._

Syllogism is of necessary use, even to the lovers of truth, to show them the fallacies that are often concealed in florid, witty, or involved discourses.--_Locke._

Logic is the art of convincing us of some truth.--_Bruyere._

~Love.~--Fie, fie! how wayward is this foolish love, that, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse, and presently, all humbled, will kiss the rod!--_Shakespeare._

Love is the cross and pa.s.sion of the heart; its end, its errand.--_P. L.

Bailey._

Love is frightened at the intervals of insensibility and callousness that encroach by little and little on the dominion of grief, and it makes efforts to recall the keenness of the first anguish.--_George Eliot._

Love while 't is day; night cometh soon, wherein no man or maiden may.--_Joaquin Miller._

Love has a way of cheating itself consciously, like a child who plays at solitary hide-and-seek; it is pleased with a.s.surances that it all the while disbelieves.--_George Eliot._

As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words.--_Shakespeare._

Loves change sure as man or moon, and wane like warm full days of June.--_Joaquin Miller._

Take of love as a sober man takes wine; do not get drunk.--_Alfred de Musset._

Love is the admiration and cherishing of the amiable qualities of the beloved person, upon the condition of yourself being the object of their action. The qualities of the s.e.xes correspond. The man's courage is loved by the woman, whose fort.i.tude again is coveted by the man. His vigorous intellect is answered by her infallible tact. Can it be true, what is so constantly affirmed, that there is no s.e.x in souls? I doubt it--I doubt it exceedingly.--_Coleridge._

As love increases prudence diminishes.--_Rochefoucauld._

Never self-possessed, or prudent, love is all abandonment.--_Emerson._

The desire to be beloved is ever restless and unsatisfied; but the love that flows out upon others is a perpetual well-spring from on high.--_L.

M. Child._

Love is love's reward.--_Dryden._

The violence of love is as much to be dreaded as that of hate. When it is durable, it is serene and equable. Even its famous pains begin only with the ebb of love, for few are indeed lovers, though all would fain be.--_Th.o.r.eau._

Love makes all things possible.--_Shakespeare._

Economy in love is peace to nature, much like economy in worldly matters; we should be prudent, never love too fast; profusion will not, cannot, always last.--_Peter Pindar._ (_John W. Wolcott._)

There is no fear in love, for perfect love casteth out fear.--_Bible._

O love! thy essence is thy purity! Breathe one unhallowed breath upon thy flame and it is gone for ever, and but leaves a sullied vase,--its pure light lost in shame.--_Landor._

The pale complexion of true love.--_Shakespeare._

Love has no middle term; it either saves or destroys.--_Victor Hugo._

Young love is a flame; very pretty, often very hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. The love of the older and disciplined heart is as coals, deep-burning, unquenchable.--_Beecher._

In love's war, he who flies is conqueror.--_Mrs. Osgood._

Where there is room in the heart there is always room in the house.--_Moore._

Love's like the measles, all the worse when it comes late in life.--_Douglas Jerrold._

Only they conquer love who run away.--_Carew._

The heart's hushed secret in the soft dark eye.--_L. E. Landon._

Love, well thou know'st, no partnership allows; cupid averse rejects divided vows.--_Prior._

Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue.--_Milton._

Those who yield their souls captive to the brief intoxication of love, if no higher and holier feeling mingle with and consecrate their dream of bliss, will shrink trembling from the pangs that attend their waking.--_Schlegel._

The first sigh of love is the last of wisdom.--_Antoine Bret._

I have enjoyed the happiness of this world, I have lived and have loved.--_Richter._

Life is a flower of which love is the honey.--_Victor Hugo._

Love is a severe critic. Hate can pardon more than love.--_Th.o.r.eau._

Young love-making, that gossamer web! Even the points it clings to--the things whence its subtle interlacings are swung--are scarcely perceptible: momentary touches of finger-tips, meetings of rays from blue and dark orbs, unfinished phrases, lightest changes of cheek and lip, faintest tremors. The web itself is made of spontaneous beliefs and indefinable joys, yearnings of one life towards another, visions of completeness, indefinite trust.--_George Eliot._

Love is the loadstone of love.--_Mrs. Osgood._

Love is never lasting which flames before it burns.--_Feltham._

The best part of woman's love is worship; but it is hard to her to be sent away with her precious spikenard rejected, and her long tresses, too, that were let fall ready to soothe the wearied feet.--_George Eliot._