The Truth Is, We Never Make For

Youth Is A Season That Has No Repose.

How Often, In This Cold And Bitter World, Is The Warm Heart Thrown Back Upon Itself! Cold, Careless, Are We Of Another's Grief; We Wrap Ourselves In Sullen Selfishness.

Jealousy Ought To Be Tragic, To Save It From Being Ridiculous.

There Is No Denying That There Are 'royal Roads' Through Existence For The Upper Classes; For Them, At Least, The Highways Are Macadamized, Swept, And Watered.

Though Fortune's Wheel Is Generally On The Turn, Sometimes When It Gets Into The Mud, It Sticks There.