Everything Is Sweetened By Risk.

Vanity In Its Idler Moments Is Benevolent, Is As Willing To Give Pleasure As To Take It, And Accepts As Sufficient Reward For Its Services A Kind Word Or An Approving Smile.

In My Garden, Care Stops At The Gate And Gazes At Me Wistfully Through The Bars.

God Has Thickly Strewn Infinity With Grandeur.

We Twain Have Met Like The Ships Upon The Sea, Who Behold An Hour's Converse, So Short, So Sweet: One Little Hour! And Then, Away They Speed On Lonely Paths, Through Mist, And Cloud, And Foam, To Meet No More.

The Sea Complains Upon A Thousand Shores.