Feelings Of Man Are Always Pure And

The Happiness Of Life Consists, Like The Day, Not In Single Flashes (of Light), But In One Continuous Mild Serenity. The Most Beautiful Period Of The Heart's Existence Is In This Calm Equable Light, Even Although It Be Only Moonshine Or Twilight. Now The Mind Alone Can Obtain For Us This Heavenly Cheerfulness And Peace.

What Cicero Said Of Men-that They Are Like Wines, Age Souring The Bad, And Bettering The Good-we Can Say Of Misfortune, That It Has The Same Effect Upon Them.

People Will Not Bear It When Advice Is Violently Given, Even If It Is Well Founded. Hearts Are Flowers; They Remain Open To The Softly Falling Dew, But Shut Up In The Violent Downpour Of Rain.

Memory, Wit, Fancy, Acuteness, Cannot Grow Young Again In Old Age, But The Heart Can.

Joy Descends Gently Upon Us Like The Evening Dew, And Does Not Patter Down Like A Hailstorm.