It Is Not Poverty So Much As

I Profess Not To Know How Women's Hearts Are Wooed And Won. To Me They Have Always Been Matters Of Riddle And Admiration.

There Is A Certain Relief In Change, Even Though It Be From Bad To Worse.

The Literary World Is Made Up Of Little Confederacies, Each Looking Upon Its Own Members As The Lights Of The Universe; And Considering All Others As Mere Transient Meteors, Doomed To Soon Fall And Be Forgotten, While Its Own Luminaries Are To Shine Steadily Into Immortality.

Oh The Grave!--the Grave!--it Buries Every Error--covers Every Defect--extinguishes Every Resentment! From Its Peaceful Bosom Spring None But Fond Regrets And Tender Recollections. Who Can Look Down Upon The Grave Even Of An Enemy, And Not Feel A Compunctious Throb, That He Should Ever Have Warred With The Poor Handful Of Earth That Lies Mouldering Before Him!

He Who Wins A Thousand Common Hearts Is Entitled To Some Renown; But He Who Keeps Undisputed Sway Over The Heart Of A Coquette Is Indeed A Hero.