To those who know thee not, no words can paint!

Small habits well pursued betimes May reach the dignity of crimes.

In men this blunder still you find,— All think their little set mankind.

Since trifles make the sum of human things, And half our misery from our foibles springs.

... There's a joy, To the fond votaries of fame unknown, To hear the still small voice of conscience speak In whisp'ring plaudit to the silent soul.

The keen spirit Seizes the prompt occasion, makes the thought Start into instant action, and at once Plans and performs, resolves and executes!

That silence is one of the great arts of conversation is allowed by Cicero himself, who says, there is not only an art, but even an eloquence in it.