An Old Woman ... Is A Person

I Have This Very Moment Finished Reading A Novel Called The Vicar Of Wakefield [by Oliver Goldsmith].... It Appears To Me, To Be Impossible Any Person Could Read This Book Through With A Dry Eye And Yet, I Don't Much Like It.... There Is But Very Little Story, The Plot Is Thin, The Incidents Very Rare, The Sentiments Uncommon, The Vicar Is Contented, Humble, Pious, Virtuous--but Upon The Whole The Book Has Not At All Satisfied My Expectations.

Far From Having Taken Any Positive Step, I Have Not Yet Even Fommed Any Resolution.

Concealment Is The Foe Of Tranquility.

To A Heart Formed For Friendship And Affection The Charms Of Solitude Are Very Short-lived.

Imagination Took The Reins, And Reason, Slow-paced, Though Sure-footed, Was Unequal To A Race With So Eccentric And Flighty A Companion.