Love Lessens Woman's Delicacy And Increases Man's.

A Woman Who Could Always Love Would Never Grow Old; And The Love Of Mother And Wife Would Often Give Or Preserve Many Charms If It Were Not Too Often Combined With Parental And Conjugal Anger. There Remains In The Face Of Women Who Are Naturally Serene And Peaceful, And Of Those Rendered So By Religion, An After-spring, And Later An After-summer, The Reflex Of Their Most Beautiful Bloom.

Joy Descends Gently Upon Us Like The Evening Dew, And Does Not Patter Down Like A Hailstorm.

Passion Makes The Best Observations And The Sorriest Conclusions.

What Makes Old Age So Sad Is, Not That Our Joys, But That Our Hopes Then Cease.

Man's Feelings Are Always Purest And Most Glowing In The Hour Of Meeting And Of Farewell.