My Heart Is Its Own Grave!

We Are Ourselves Our Happiness.

We Need To Suffer, That We May Learn To Pity.

How Disappointment Tracks The Steps Of Hope.

There Are Words To Paint The Misery Of Love, But None To Paint Its Happiness.

If There Be Any One Habit Which More Than Another Is The Dry Rot Of All That Is High And Generous In Youth, It Is The Habit Of Ridicule.