Kindness Is Not Without Its Rocks Ahead.

There Is Something Great And Terrible About Suicide.

The Man Who Enters His Wife's Dressing Room Is Either A Philosopher Or A Fool.

To Have Fame Follow Us Is Well, But It Is Not A Desirable Avant-courier.

Nothing So Fortifies A Friendship As A Belief On The Part Of One Friend That He Is Superior To The Other.

There Are Houses In Certain Provincial Towns Whose Aspect Inspires Melancholy, Akin To That Called Forth By Sombre Cloisters, Dreary Moorlands, Or The Desolation Of Ruins. Within These Houses There Is, Perhaps, The Silence Of The Cloister, The Barrenness Of Moors, The Skeleton Of Ruins; Life And Movement Are So Stagnant There That A Stranger Might Think Them Uninhabited, Were It Not That He Encounters Suddenly The Pale, Cold Glance Of A Motionless Person, Whose Half-monastic Face Peers Beyond The Window-casing At The Sound Of An Unaccustomed Step.