If This Be Not Love, It Is

I Always Take Blushing Either For A Sign Of Guilt, Or Of Ill Breeding.

Thus In This Sad, But Oh, Too Pleasing State! My Soul Can Fix Upon Nothing But Thee; Thee It Contemplates, Admires, Adores, Nay Depends On, Trusts On You Alone.

I Am Always Of The Opinion With The Learned, If They Speak First.

Thus Grief Still Treads Upon The Heels Of Pleasure; Married In Haste, We May Repent At Leisure.

Marriage Indeed May Qualify The Fury Of His Passion, But It Very Rarely Mends A Man's Manners.