Silence Is The Essential Condition Of Happiness.

Oh, What Lies There Are In Kisses.

Whatever Tears One May Shed, In The End One Always Blows One's Nose.

Sweet May Hath Come To Love Us, Flowers, Trees, Their Blossoms Don; And Through The Blue Heavens Above Us The Very Clouds Move On.

Round My Cradle Shimmered The Last Moonbeams Of The Eighteenth Century And The First Morning Rays Of The Nineteenth.

Like A Great Poet, Nature Knows How To Produce The Greatest Effects With The Most Limited Means.