I Cannot Comprehend The Neglect Of A

One Has Not Great Hopes From Birmingham. I Always Say There Is Something Direful In The Sound.

Her Pleasure In The Walk Must Arise From The Exercise And The Day, From The View Of The Last Smiles Of The Year Upon The Tawny Leaves And Withered Hedges, And From Repeating To Herself Some Few Of The Thousand Poetical Descriptions Extant Of Autumn-that Season Of Peculiar And Inexhaustible Influence On The Mind Of Taste And Tenderness-that Season Which Has Drawn From Every Poet Worthy Of Being Read Some Attempt At Description, Or Some Lines Of Feeling.

It Taught Me To Hope, As I Had Scarcely Ever Allowed Myself To Hope Before.

I Do Not Want People To Be Very Agreeable, As It Saves Me The Trouble Of Liking Them A Great Deal.

Everybody Likes To Go Their Own Way–to Choose Their Own Time And Manner Of Devotion.