Curiosity Is Its Own Suicide.

All Beginnings Are Very Troublesome Things.

Shopping, True Feminine Felicity!

Our First Love-letter ... There Is So Much To Be Said, And Which No Words Seems Exactly To Say - The Dread Of Saying Too Much Is So Nicely Balanced By The Fear Of Saying Too Little. Hope Borders On Presumption, And Fear On Reproach.

No Thoroughly Occupied Man Was Ever Yet Very Miserable.

Ah, Tell Me Not That Memory Sheds Gladness O'er The Past; What Is Recalled By Faded Flowers, Save That They Did Not Last? Were It Not Better To Forget, Than But Remember And Regret?