How Odd It Is That We So

To Regret The Exchange Of Earthly Pleasures For The Joys Of Heaven, Is As If The Grovelling Caterpillar Should Lament That It Must One Day Quit The Nibbled Leaf To Soar Aloft And Flutter Through The Air, Roving At Will From Flower To Flower, Sipping Sweet Honey From Their Cups, Or Basking In Their Sunny Petals.

There's Nothing Like Active Employment, I Suppose, To Console The Afflicted.

His Heart Was Like A Sensitive Plant, That Opens For A Moment In The Sunshine, But Curls Up And Shrinks Into Itself At The Slightest Touch Of The Finger, Or The Lightest Breath Of Wind.

No One Can Be Happy In Eternal Solitude.

In Love Affairs, There Is No Mediator Like A Merry, Simple-hearted Child - Ever Ready To Cement Divided Hearts, To Span The Unfriendly Gulf Of Custom, To Melt The Ice Of Cold Reserve, And Overthrow The Separating Walls Of Dread Formality And Pride.