Reader, I Literally Married Him.

You Are Human And Fallible.

That A Greater Fool Than Jane Eyre Had Never Breathed The Breath Of Life; That A More Fantastic Idiot Had Never Surfeited Herself On Sweet Lies, And Swallowed Poison As If It Were Nectar.

Writers Cannot Choose Their Own Mood: With Them It Is Not Always Hide-tide, Nor --thank Heaven!--always Storm.

Crying Does Not Indicate That You Are Weak. Since Birth, It Has Always Been A Sign That You Are Alive.

As To The Mouth, It Delights At Times In Laughter; It Is Disposed To Impart All That The Brain Conceives; Though I Daresay It Would Be Silent On Much The Heart Experiences. Mobile And Flexible, It Was Never Intended To Be Compressed In The Eternal Silence Of Solitude: It Is A Mouth Which Should Speak Much And Smile Often, And Have Human Affection For Its Interlocutor.