Honor Is An Old-world Thing; But It

There Is No Knife That Cuts So Sharply And With Such Poisoned Blade As Treachery.

Hypocrites Weep, And You Cannot Tell Their Tears From Those Of Saints; But No Bad Man Ever Laughed Sweetly Yet.

Woman Already Controls By Not Seeming To Do So. Talk No More Of Her Rights.

Talent Wears Well, Genius Wears Itself Out; Talent Drives A Snug Brougham In Fact; Genius, A Sun-chariot In Fancy.

The Joy Of A Strong Nature Is As Cloudless As Its Suffering Is Desolate.