Thou Know'st How Fearless Is My Trust

It Merely Shews, After All, That Affection Is A Habit.

I Cannot Love Evergreens - They Are The Misanthropes Of Nature. To Them The Spring Brings No Promise, The Autumn No Decline; They Are Cut Off From The Sweetest Of All Ties With Their Kind - Sympathy. ... I Will Have No Evergreens In My Garden; When The Inevitable Winter Comes, Every Beloved Plant And Favorite Tree Shall Drop Together - No Solitary Fir Left To Triumph Over The Companionship Of Decay.

There Is No Wretchedness Like Self-reproach.

I Never Cast A Flower Away, A Gift Of One Who Car'd For Me; A Flower--a Faded Flower, But It Was Done Reluctantly.

Good Taste Is His Religion, His Morality, His Standard, And His Test.