...our Impulses Are Too Strong For Our

In The Ill-judged Execution Of The Well-judged Plan Of Things The Call Seldom Produces The Comer, The Man To Love Rarely Coincides With The Hour For Loving

The Sudden Disappointment Of A Hope Leaves A Scar Which The Ultimate Fulfillment Of That Hope Never Entirely Removes.

That Aspects Are Within Us; And Who Seems Most Kingly Is The King.

A Novel Is An Impression, Not An Argument; And There The Matter Must Rest.

He Wished She Knew His Impressions; But He Would As Soon Have Thought Of Carrying An Odour In A Net As Of Attempting To Convey The Intangibilities Of His Feeling In The Coarse Meshes Of Language. So He Remained Silent.