Eyes That Droop Like Summer Flowers.

Politeness, However, Acts The Lady's Maid To Our Thoughts; And They Are Washed, Dressed, Curled, Rouged, And Perfumed, Before They Are Presented To The Public.

Nothing But Love Can Answer To Love; No Affection, No Kindness, No Care, Can Supply Its Place: It Is Its Own Sweet Want.

How Beautiful, How Buoyant, And Glad Is Morning!

He Who Seeks Pleasure With Reference To Himself, Not Others, Will Ever Find That Pleasure Is Only Another Name For Discontent.

The Past Is Perpetual Youth To The Heart.