The Stars Are So Far, Far Away!

Toil Is The Portion Of Day, As Sleep Is That Of Night; But If There Be One Hour Of The Twenty-four Which Has The Life Of Day Without Its Labor, And The Rest Of Night Without Its Slumber, It Is The Lovely And Languid Hour Of Twilight.

The Fact Is, That Life Is Too Short To Be Occupied By Aught But The Present - Hope And Remembrance Are Equally A Waste Of Time.

There Is No Wretchedness Like Self-reproach.

Affection Exaggerates Its Own Offenses.

I Think Hearts Are Very Much Like Glasses. If They Do Not Break With The First Ring, They Usually Last A Considerable Time.