How Odd It Is That We So

I May Be Permitted, Like The Doctors, To Cure A Greater Evil By A Less, For I Shall Not Fall Seriously In Love With The Young Widow, I Think, Nor She With Me - That's Certain - But If I Find A Little Pleasure In Her Society I May Surely Be Allowed To Seek It; And If The Star Of Her Divinity Be Bright Enough To Dim The Lustre Of Eliza's, So Much The Better, But I Scarcely Can Think It

What The World Stigmatizes As Romantic Is Often More Nearly Allied To The Truth Than Is Commonly Supposed.

Preserve Me From Such Cordiality! It Is Like Handling Briar-roses And May-blossoms - Bright Enough To The Eye, And Outwardly Soft To The Touch, But You Know There Are Thorns Beneath, And Every Now And Then You Feel Them Too; And Perhaps Resent The Injury By Crushing Them In Till You Have Destroyed Their Power, Though Somewhat To The Detriment Of Your Own Fingers.

All Our Talents Increase In The Using, And Every Faculty, Both Good And Bad, Strengthens By Exercise.

He Never Could Have Loved Me, Or He Would Not Have Resigned Me So Willingly