The Only Happy Author In This World

True Love Will Not Brook Reserve; It Feels Undervalued And Outraged, When Even The Sorrows Of Those It Loves Are Concealed From It.

Every Desire Bears Its Death In Its Very Gratification. Curiosity Languishes Under Repeated Stimulants, And Novelties Cease To Excite And Surprise, Until At Length We Cannot Wonder Even At A Miracle.

Language Gradually Varies, And With It Fade Away The Writings Of Authors Who Have Flourished Their Allotted Time; Otherwise, The Creative Powers Of Genius Would Overstock The World, And The Mind Would Be Completely Bewildered In The Endless Mazes Of Literature.

And If Unhappy In Her Love, Her Heart Is Like Some Fortress That Has Been Captured, And Sacked, And Abandoned, And Left Desolate.

The Only Happy Author In This World Is He Who Is Below The Care Of Reputation.