None But The Brave And Beautiful Can

Sorrow Is A Stone That Crushes A Single Bearer To The Ground, While Two Are Able To Carry It With Ease.

Death Is Another Life.

And These Are Joys, Like Beauty, But Skin Deep.

It Is Sad To See The Light Of Beauty Wane Away, Know Eyes Are Dimming, Bosoms Shrivelling, Feet Losing Their Springs, And Limbs Their Lily Roundness; But It Is Worse To Feel The Heart-spring Gone, To Lose Hope, Care Not For The Coming Thing, And Feel All Things Go To Decay Within Us.

Worthy Books Are Not Companions – They Are Solitudes: We Lose Ourselves In Them And All Our Cares.