What Do We Live For, If Not

The Memory Has As Many Moods As The Temper, And Shifts Its Scenery Like A Diorama.

When You've Been Used To Doing Things, And They've Been Taken Away From You, It's As If Your Hands Had Been Cut Off, And You Felt The Fingers As Are Of No Use To You.

Our Growing Thought Makes Growing Revelation.

But If Maggie Had Been That Young Lady, You Would Probably Have Known Nothing About Her: Her Life Would Have Had So Few Vicissitudes That It Could Hardly Have Been Written; For The Happiest Women, Like The Happiest Nations, Have No History.

Would Not Love See Returning Penitence Afar Off, And Fall On Its Neck And Kiss It?