Happiness Comes The Way The Wind Blows.

Of Two Friends, One Is Always The Slave Of The Other, Although Frequently Neither Acknowledges The Fact To Himself.

I Want To Reconcile Myself With Heaven, I Want To Love, I Want To Pray, I Want To Believe In Good.

He In His Madness Prays For Storms, And Dreams That Storms Will Bring Him Peace.

I Was Modest--they Accused Me Of Being Crafty: I Became Secretive. I Felt Deeply Good And Evil--nobody Caressed Me, Everybody Offended Me: I Became Rancorous. I Was Gloomy--other Children Were Merry And Talkative. I Felt Myself Superior To Them--but Was Considered Inferior: I Became Envious. I Was Ready To Love The Whole World--none Understood Me: And I Learned To Hate.

Women Love Only Those Whom They Do Not Know!