Misery Generates Hate.

I Stood Lonely Enough, But To That Feeling Of Isolation I Was Accustomed: It Did Not Oppress Me Much.

I Am Not An Angel,' I Asserted; 'and I Will Not Be One Till I Die: I Will Be Myself. Mr. Rochester, You Must Neither Expect Nor Exact Anything Celestial Of Me - For You Will Not Get It, Any More Than I Shall Get It Of You: Which I Do Not At All Anticipate.

Out Of Association Grows Adhesion, And Out Of Adhesion Amalgamation.

What The Deuce Is To Do Now?

But What Is So Headstrong As Youth? What So Blind As Inexperience?