Surely Happiness Is Reflective, Like The Light

There Is A Sacredness In Tears. They Are Not The Mark Of Weakness, But Of Power. They Speak More Eloquently Than Ten Thousand Tongues. They Are The Messengers Of Overwhelming Grief, Of Deep Contrition, And Of Unspeakable Love.

The Sorrow For The Dead Is The Only Sorrow From Which We Refuse To Be Divorced.

There Rise Authors Now And Then, Who Seem Proof Against The Mutability Of Language, Because They Have Rooted Themselves In The Unchanging Principles Of Human Nature.

[i]n The Gloomy Month Of February.... The Deserts Of Arabia Are Not More Dreary And Inhospitable Than The Streets Of London At Such A Time.

The Oil And Wine Of Merry Meeting.