For With Slight Efforts How Should We

Leave No Stone Unturned.

It's Folly That Women Measure Their Happiness With The Pleasures Of The Bed, But They Do. And When The Pleasure Cools Or Their Man Goes Missing, All They Once Lived For Turns Dark And Hateful.

To Die With Glory, If One Has To Die At All, Is Still, I Think, Pain For The Dier.

'twas But My Tongue, 'twas Not My Soul That Swore.

What Else Goes Wrong For A Woman-except Her Marriage?