I Speak To The Paper, As I

I Have Here Only Made A Nosegay Of Culled Flowers, And Have Brought Nothing Of My Own But The Thread That Tied Them Together.

An Untempted Woman Cannot Boast Of Her Chastity.

Reason Has So Many Forms That We Do Not Know Which To Choose-experiment Has No Fewer.

Virtue Rejects Facility To Be Her Companion. She Requires A Craggy, Rough And Thorny Way.

There Is Some Shadow Of Delight And Delicacy Which Smiles Upon And Flatters Us Even In The Very Lap Of Melancholy.