The City Seems So Much More In

It Is Strange,' Pursued He, 'that While I Love Rosomond Oliver So Wildly-with All The Intensity, Indeed, Of A First Passion, The Object Of Which Is Exquisitely Beautiful, Graceful, And Fascinating--i Experience At The Same Time A Calm, Unwarped Consciousness, That She Would Not Make Me A Good Wife; That She Is Not The Partner Suited To Me; That I Should Discover This Within A Year After Marriage; And That To Twelve Months' Rapture Would Succeed A Lifetime Of Regret. This I Know.

It Did Not Seem As If A Prop Were Withdrawn, But Rather As If A Motive Were Gone: It Was Not The Power To Be Tranquil Which Had Failed Me, But The Reason For Tranquility Was No More.

A New Chapter In A Novel Is Something Like A New Scene In A Play.

I Know I Must Conceal My Sentiments: I Must Smother Hope; I Must Remember That He Cannot Care Much For Me. For When I Say That I Am Of His Kind, I Do Not Mean That I Have His Force To Influence, And His Spell To Attract: I Mean Only That I Have Certain Tastes And Feelings In Common With Him.i Must, Then, Repeat Continually That We Are Forever Sundered: - And Yet, While I Breathe And Think, I Must Love Him.

It Is In Vain To Say Human Beings Ought To Be Satisfied With Tranquility: They Must Have Action; And They Will Make It If They Cannot Find It.