The Historian Records, But The Novelist Creates.

My Conviction Gains Infinitely The Moment Another Soul Will Believe In It.

Outside The Arch, Always There Seemed Another Arch. And Beyond The Remotest Echo, A Silence.

This Solitude Opressed Her; She Was Accustomed To Have Her Thoughts Confirmed By Others Or, At All Events, Contradicted; It Was Too Dreadful Not To Know Whether She Was Thinking Right Or Wrong.

Love Is Always Being Given Where It Is Not Required.

She Must Be Assured That It Is Not A Criminal Offense To Love At First Sight.