It Merely Shews, After All, That Affection

The Fearless Make Their Own Way.

The Truth Is, We Like To Talk Over Our Disasters, Because They Are Ours; And Others Like To Listen, Because They Are Not Theirs.

Social Life Is Filled With Doubts And Vain Aspirings; Solitude, When The Imagination Is Dethroned, Is Turned To Weariness And Ennui.

Sneering Springs Out Of The Wish To Deny; And Wretched Must That State Of Mind Be That Wishes To Take Refuge In Doubt.

Consistency Is A Human Word, But It Certainly Expresses Nothing Human.