Fiction Is The Microscope Of Truth.

History Teaches Everything, Even The Future.

The Death Of A Man's Wife Is Like Cutting Down An Ancient Oak That Has Long Shaded The Family Mansion. Henceforth The Glare Of The World, With Its Cares And Vicissitudes Falls Upon The Old Widower's Heart, And There Is Nothing To Break Their Force, Or Shield Him From The Full Weight Of Misfortune. It Is As If His Right Hand Were Withered; As If One Wing Of His Angel Was Broken, And Every Movement That He Made Brought Him To The Ground.

The Reason That Women Are So Much More Sociable Than Men Is Because They Act More From The Heart Than The Intellect.

My Mother Was Convinced, And On This Head I Have Retained Her Firm Belief, That To Kill Animals For The Purpose Of Feeding On Their Flesh Is One Of The Most Deplorable And Shameful Infirmities Of The Human State; That It Is One Of Those Curses Cast Upon Man Either By His Fall, Or By The Obduracy Of His Own Perversity.

Hence Life, As Through A Cloud, For Me I See Vanish, And To The Past's Dark Shade 'tis Chas'd; As A Grand Image Love Remains To Me-- Sole Remnant Of A Dream, By Morn Effac'd.