But Valentine, Why Despair, Why Always Paint

Joy To Hearts Which Have Suffered Long Is Like The Dew On The Ground After A Long Drought; Both The Heart And The Ground Absorb That Beneficent Moisture Falling On Them, And Nothing Is Outwardly Apparant.

In Prosperity Prayers Seem But A Mere Medley Of Words, Until Misfortune Comes And The Unhappy Sufferer First Understands The Meaning Of The Sublime Language In Which He Invokes The Pity Of Heaven!

He's Right: They Have To Put Madmen With Madmen.

Pure Love And Suspicion Cannot Dwell Together: At The Door Where The Latter Enters, The Former Makes Its Exit.

I Hate This Life Of The Fashionable World, Always Ordered, Measured, Ruled, Like Our Music-paper. What I Have Always Wished For, Desired, And Coveted, Is The Life Of An Artist, Free And Independent, Relying Only On My Own Resources, And Accountable Only To Myself.