Almost All Novels Are Love Stories.

Talent, Will And Genius Are Natural Phenomena Like The Lake, The Volcano, The Mountain, The Wind, The Star, The Cloud.

All Your Trouble Comes From Lack Of Exercise. A Man Of Your Strength And Constitution Ought Always To Have Kept Physically Active. So Don't Jibe At The Very Wise Advice That Sentences You To One Hour's Walk A Day. You Imagine The Work Of The Mind Takes Place Only In The Brain; But You're Much Mistaken. It Takes Place In The Legs As Well.

I Was Born To Love - But None Of You Wanted To Believe It, And That Misunderstanding Was Crucial In Forming My Character. It's True That Nature Was Strangely Inconsistent In Giving Me A Warm Heart, But Also A Face That Was Like A Stone Mask And A Tongue That Was Heavy And Slow. She Refused Me What She Bestowed Freely On Even The Most Loutish Of My Fellow Men. . . . People Judged My Inner Character By My Outer Covering, And Like A Sterile Fruit, I Withered Under The Rough Husk I Couldn't Slough Off.

Nature Has Not Changed. The Night Is Still Unsullied, The Stars Still Twinkle, And The Wild Thyme Smells As Sweetly Now As It Did Then ... We May Be Afflicted And Unhappy, But No One Can Take From Us The Sweet Delight Which Is Nature's Gift To Those Who Love Her And Her Poetry.

Young Love Needs Dangers And Barriers To Nourish It.