The Power To Console Is Not Within

Whenever A Thing Is Done For The First Time, It Releases A Little Demon.

The Possible's Slow Fuse Is Lit By The Imagination.

A Precious, Mouldering Pleasure 't Is, To Meet An Antique Book, In Just The Dress His Century Wore; A Privilege I Think.

Hope Is A Thing With Feathers

She Rose To His Requirement, Dropped The Playthings Of Her Life To Take The Honorable Work Of Woman And Of Wife.