The Hands Are The Heart's Messengers.

I Believe Verbal Felicity Is The Fruit Of Ardor, Of Diligence, And Of Refusing To Be False.

Truly As The Sun Can Rot Or Mend, Love Can Make One Bestial Or Make A Beast A Man.

The Heart That Gives, Gathers.

I, Too, Dislike It. Reading It, However, With A Perfect Contempt For It, One Discovers In It, After All, A Place For The Genuine.

Superior People Never Make Long Visits.