Women Are But The Toys Which Amuse

I Cannot Tell How The Truth May Be; I Say The Tale As It Was Said To Me.

Sleep In Peace, And Wake In Joy.

You Will, I Trust, Resemble A Forest Plant, Which Has Indeed, By Some Accident, Been Brought Up In The Greenhouse, And Thus Rendered Delicate And Effeminate, But Which Regains Its Native Firmness And Tenacity, When Exposed For A Season To The Winter Air.

Contentions Fierce, Ardent, And Dire, Spring From No Petty Cause.

Just At The Age 'twixt Boy And Youth, When Thought Is Speech, And Speech Is Truth.