I Leave A Sad And Bitter World;

If Our Impulses Were Confined To Hunger, Thirst, And Desire, We Might Be Nearly Free; But Now We Are Moved By Every Wind That Blows And A Chance Word Or Scene That That Word May Convey To Us.

Our Faults Are Apt To Assume Giant And Exaggerated Forms To Our Eyes In Youth.

Ennui, The Demon, Waited At The Threshold Of His Noiseless Refuge, And Drove Away The Stirring Hopes And Enlivening Expectations, Which Form The Better Part Of Life.

Elegance Is Inferior To Virtue.

Thus Strangely Are Our Souls Constructed, And By Slight Ligaments Are We Bound To Prosperity And Ruin.