You, Sir, Are The Most Phantom-like Of

Even For Me Life Had Its Gleams Of Sunshine.

There Is, I Am Convinced, No Picture That Conveys In All Its Dreadfulness, A Vision Of Sorrow, Despairing, Remediless, Supreme. If I Could Paint Such A Picture, The Canvas Would Show Only A Woman Looking Down At Her Empty Arms.

Do You Like Him Much?' I Told You I Liked Him A Little. Where Is The Use Of Caring For Him So Very Much: He Is Full Of Faults.' Is He?' All Boys Are.

Some Of The Best People That Ever Lived Have Been As Destitute As I Am; And If You Are A Christian, You Ought Not To Consider Poverty A Crime.

I Could Not Unlove Him Now, Merely Because I Found That He Had Ceased To Notice Me.