To Love The One Who Loves You,

For Ages Happiness Has Been Represented As A Huge Precious Stone, Impossible To Find, Which People Seek For Hopelessly. It Is Not So; Happiness Is A Mosaic, Composed Of A Thousand Little Stones, Which Separately And Of Themselves Have Little Value, But Which United With Art Form A Graceful Design.

Treasures Are Not For Youth; At Twenty Years Of Age, One Does Not Know How To Be Rich, Or How To Be Loved.

Love With Men Is Not A Sentiment, But An Idea.

To Love The One Who Loves You, To Admire The One Who Admires You, In A Word, To Be The Idol Of One's Idol, Is Exceeding The Limit Of Human Joy; It Is Stealing Fire From Heaven.

Modesty Is The Chastity Of Merit, The Virginity Of Noble Souls.