Particular Lies May Speak A General Truth.

But Is It What We Love, Or How We Love, That Makes True Good?

To The Old, Sorrow Is Sorrow; To The Young, It Is Despair.

Perhaps The Wind Wails So In Winter For The Summers Dead, And All Sad Sounds Are Nature's Funeral Cries For What Has Been And Is Not.

Power Of Generalizing Gives Men So Much The Superiority In Mistake Over The Dumb Animals.

When One Is Five-and-twenty, One Has Not Chalk-stones At One's Finger-ends That The Touch Of A Handsome Girl Should Be Entirely Indifferent.