Life Is A Slate Where All Our

There Is Only One Happiness In This Life, To Love And Be Loved.

A Man Is Not A Wall, Whose Stones Are Crushed Upon The Road; Or A Pipe, Whose Fragments Are Thrown Away At A Street Corner. The Fragments Of An Intellect Are Always Good.

Life Resembles A Novel More Often Than Novels Resemble Life.

The Beauty That Addresses Itself To The Eyes Is Only The Spell Of The Moment; The Eye Of The Body Is Not Always That Of The Soul.

Time Is Always Wanting To Me, And I Cannot Meet With A Single Day When I Am Nut Hurried Along, Driven To By Wits'-end By Urgent Work, Business To Attent Do Or Some Service To Render.