How Sweet And Sacred Idleness Is!

Friendship Is A Vase, Which, When It Is Flawed By Heat, Or Violence, Or Accident, May As Well Be Broken At Once; It Can Never Be Trusted After.

The Flame Of Anger, Bright And Brief, Sharpens The Barb Of Love.

The Worse Of Ingratitude Lies Not In The Ossified Heart Of Him Who Commits It, But We Find It In The Effect It Produces On Him Against Whom It Was Committed.

In The Hours Of Distress And Misery, The Eyes Of Every Mortal Turn To Friendship; In The Hours Of Gladness And Conviviality, What Is Our Want? It Is Friendship. When The Heart Overflows With Gratitude, Or With Any Other Sweet Or Sacred Sentiment, What Is The Word To Which It Would Give Utterance? A Friend.

There Is A Vast Deal Of Vital Air In Loving Words.