Every Fact Is Impure, But Every Fact

There Are Noble Books But One Wants The Breath Of Life Sometimes.

What A Difference It Makes To Come Home To A Child!

If You Have Knowledge, Let Others Light Their Candles In It.

I Fear I Have Not One Good Word To Say This Fair Morning, Though The Sun Shines So Encouragingly On The Distant Hills And Gentle River And The Trees Are In Their Festive Hues. I Am Not Festive, Though Contented. When Obliged To Give Myself To The Prose Of Life, As I Am On This Occasion Of Being Established In A New Home I Like To Do The Thing, Wholly And Quite, - To Weave My Web For The Day Solely From The Grey Yarn.

Certainly I Do Not Wish That Instead Of These Masters I Had Read Baby Books, Written Down To Children, And With Such Ignorant Dullness That They Blunt The Sense And Corrupt The Tastes Of The Still Plastic Human Being. But I Do Wish That I Had Read No Books At All Till Later - That I Had Lived With Toys, And Played In The Open Air. Children Should Not Cull The Fruits Of Reflection And Observation Early, But Expand In The Sun, And Let Thoughts Come To Them. They Should Not Through Books Antedate Their Actual Experiences.