Activity And Sadness Are Incompatible.

The Beauty Of A Woman Transcends All Other Forms Of Beauty, As Well In The Sweetness Of Its Suggestions, As In The Fervor Of The Admiration It Awakens. The Beauty Of A Lovely Woman Is An Inspiration, A Sweet Delirium, A Gentle Madness. Her Looks Are Love-potions. Heaven Itself Is Never So Clearly Revealed To Us As In The Face Of A Beautiful Woman.

The Natural Wants Are Few, And Easily Gratified: It Is Only Those Which Are Artificial That Perplex Us By Their Multiplicity.

The Passions Are Like Fire, Useful In A Thousand Ways And Dangerous Only In One, Through Their Excess.

Some One Called Sir Richard Steele The "vilest Of Mankind," And He Retorted With Proud Humility, "it Would Be A Glorious World If I Were.

Merit Is Never So Conspicuous As When Coupled With An Obscure Origin, Just As The Moon Never Appears So Lustrous As When It Emerges From A Cloud.