Nothing Is More Trying Than Nerves To

Spring, Which Germinated In The Earth, Moved Also With A Strange Restlessness, In The Hearts Of... Women. As The Weeks Passed, Inextinguishable Hope, Which Mounts With The Rising Sap, Looked From Their Faces.

If Broken Hearts Could Kill, The Earth Would Be As Dead As The Moon.

I've Liked Life Well Enough, But I Reckon I'll Like Death Even Better As Soon As I've Gotten Used To The Feel Of It. ... I Shouldn't Be Amazed To Find It Less Lonely Than Life After I'm Once Safely Settled.

And Where Was Happiness If It Sprung Not From The Soil? Where Contentment If It Dwelt Not Near To Nature?

I Would Write Of The Universal, Not The Provincial, In Human Nature.... I Would Write Of Characters, Not Of Characteristics.