An Artist Cannot Do Anything Slovenly.

How Clever You Are, To Know Something Of Which You Are Ignorant.

There Is A Stubbornness About Me That Never Can Bear To Be Frightened At The Will Of Others. My Courage Always Rises At Every Attempt To Intimidate Me.

To Wish Was To Hope, And To Hope Was To Expect

Undoubtedly ... There Is A Meanness In All The Arts Which Ladies Sometimes Condescend To Employ For Captivation. What Bears Affinity To Cunning Is Despicable.

But A Sanguine Temper, Though For Ever Expecting More Good Than Occurs, Does Not Always Pay For Its Hopes By Any Proportionate Depression. It Soon Flies Over The Present Failure, And Begins To Hope Again.