Everyone Else Is Just Cocktails.

There's No Use In Weeping, Though We Are Condemned To Part: There's Such A Thing As Keeping, A Remembrance In One's Heart.

It Is Strange,' Pursued He, 'that While I Love Rosomond Oliver So Wildly-with All The Intensity, Indeed, Of A First Passion, The Object Of Which Is Exquisitely Beautiful, Graceful, And Fascinating--i Experience At The Same Time A Calm, Unwarped Consciousness, That She Would Not Make Me A Good Wife; That She Is Not The Partner Suited To Me; That I Should Discover This Within A Year After Marriage; And That To Twelve Months' Rapture Would Succeed A Lifetime Of Regret. This I Know.

No Reflection Was To Be Allowed Now, Not One Glance Was To Be Cast Back; Not Even One Forward. Not One Thought Was To Be Given Either To The Past Or The Future. The First Was A Page So Heavenly Sweet, So Deadly Sad, That To Read One Line Of It Would Dissolve My Courage And Break Down My Energy. The Last Was An Awful Blank, Something Like Then World When The Deluge Was Gone By.

The Cool Peace And Dewy Sweetness Of The Night Filled Me With A Mood Of Hope: Not Hope On Any Definite Point, But A General Sense Of Encouragement And Heart-ease.

What Delusion Has Come Over Me? What Sweet Madness Has Seized Me?