The Defective Can Be More Than The

Dialect Words Are Those Terrible Marks Of The Beast To The Truly Genteel.

Women Are So Strange In Their Influence That They Tempt You To Misplaced Kindness.

There Are Disappointments Which Wring Us, And There Are Those Which Inflict A Wound Whose Mark We Bear To Our Graves. Such Are So Keen That No Future Gratification Of The Same Desire Can Ever Obliterate Them: They Become Registered As A Permanent Loss Of Happiness.

Beauty Lay Not In The Thing, But In What The Thing Symbolized.

The Sky Was Clear - Remarkably Clear - And The Twinkling Of All The Stars Seemed To Be But Throbs Of One Body, Timed By A Common Pulse.