Love Receives Its Death-wound From Aversion, And

A Long Disease Seems To Be A Halting Place Between Life And Death, That Death Itself May Be A Comfort To Those Who Die And To Those Who Are Left Behind.

One Mark Of A Second-rate Mind Is To Be Always Telling Stories.

People Reveal Their Character Even In The Simplest Things They Do. Fools Do Not Enter A Room, Nor Leave It, Nor Sit Down, Nor Rise, Nor Are They Silent, Nor Do They Stand Up, Like People Of Sense And Understanding.

It Is A Great Misfortune Not To Possess Sufficient Wit To Speak Well, Nor Sufficient Judgment To Keep Silent.

Love, Slow And Gradual In Its Growth, Is Too Much Like Friendship Ever To Be A Violent Passion.