One Does Not Love A Place The

Another Stupid Party . . . With Six People To Look On, And Talk Nonsense To Each Other.

One Man's Style Must Not Be The Rule Of Another's.

I Am No Indiscriminate Novel Reader. The Mere Trash Of The Common Circulating Library I Hold In The Highest Contempt.

Real Solemn History, I Cannot Be Interested In.... The Quarrels Of Popes And Kings, With Wars And Pestilences In Every Page; The Men All So Good For Nothing, And Hardly Any Women At All.

There Could Have Never Been Two Hearts So Open, No Tastes So Similar, No Feelings So In Unison, No Countenances So Beloved. Now They Were As Strangers; Nay, Worse Than Strangers, For They Could Never Become Acquainted. It Was A Perpetual Estrangement.