There Is A Vast Deal Of Vital

He Who First Praises A Book Becomingly Is Next In Merit To The Author.

No Friendship Is So Cordial Or So Delicious As That Of Girl For Girl; No Hatred So Intense And Immovable As That Of Woman For Woman.

It Often Comes Into My Head That We May Dream When We Are Dead, But I Am Far From Sure We Do. O That It Were So! Then My Rest Would Be Indeed Among The Blest; I Should For Ever Dream Of You.

We Are No Longer Happy So Soon As We Wish To Be Happier.

Life Is But Sighs; And, When They Cease, 'tis Over.