There Rise Authors Now And Then, Who

Jealous People Poison Their Own Banquet And Then Eat It

There Is A Sacredness In Tears. They Are Not The Mark Of Weakness, But Of Power. They Speak More Eloquently Than Ten Thousand Tongues. They Are The Messengers Of Overwhelming Grief, Of Deep Contrition, And Of Unspeakable Love.

With Every Exertion, The Best Of Men Can Do But A Moderate Amount Of Good; But It Seems In The Power Of The Most Contemptible Individual To Do Incalculable Mischief.

There Is In Every True Woman's Heart, A Spark Of Heavenly Fire, Which Lies Dormant In The Broad Daylight Of Prosperity, But Which Kindles Up And Beams And Blazes In The Dark Hour Of Adversity.

The Youthful Freshness Of A Blameless Heart.