A Man Is Lucky If He Is

You Have No Idea What It Is To Have Anybody Wonderful Fond Of You, Unless You Have Been Got Down And Rolled Upon By The Lonely Feelings That I Have Mentioned As Having Once Got The Better Of Me.

I'll Tell You," Said She, In The Same Hurried Passionate Whisper, "what Real Love It. It Is Blind Devotion, Unquestioning Self-humiliation, Utter Submission, Trust And Belief Against Yourself And Against The Whole World, Giving Up Your Whole Heart And Soul To The Smiter - As I Did!

Ah, Miss Harriet, It Would Do Us No Harm To Remember Oftener Than We Do, That Vices Are Sometimes Only Virtues Carried To Excess!

I Only Ask To Be Free. The Butterflies Are Free. Mankind Will Surely Not Deny To Harold Skimpole What It Concedes To The Butterflies.

What Are The Odds So Long As The Fire Of The Soul Is Kindled At The Taper Of Conviviality, And The Wing Of Friendship Never Molts A Feather?