Love Is The Enchanted Dawn Of Every

Life Is Too Short To Spare An Hour Of It In The Indulgence Of This Evil Passion.

There Are Places And Climates, Seasons And Hours, With Their Outward Circumstance, So Much In Harmony With Certain Impressions Of The Heart, That Nature And The Soul Of Man Appear To Be Parts Of One Vast Whole.

Eloquence Dwells Quite As Much In The Hearts Of The Hearers As On The Lips Of The Orator.

Man Hath No Heaven And Time's Coast Is Chartless. He Speeds; We Pass Away!

Virginity Is The Poetry, Not The Reality, Of Life.