Good Taste Is His Religion, His Morality,

Hopes And Regrets Are The Sweetest Links Of Existence.

A Blossom Full Of Promise Is Life's Joy, That Never Comes To Fruit. Hope, For A Time, Suns The Young Floweret In Its Gladsome Light, And It Looks Flourishing--a Little While-- 't Is Pass'd, We Know Not Whither, But 't Is Gone.

The Very Effort To Forget Teaches Us To Remember.

We Are Ourselves Our Happiness.

Memory Has Many Conveniences, And, Among Others, That Of Foreseeing Things As They Have Afterwards Happened.