Experience, Like A Pale Musician, Holds A

Art Is Much, But Love Is More.

For None Can Express Thee, Though All Should Approve Thee. I Love Thee So, Dear, That I Only Can Love Thee.

The Music Soars Within The Little Lark, And The Lark Soars.

The English Have A Scornful Insular Way Of Calling The French Light.

The World's Male Chivalry Has Perished Out, But Women Are Knights-errant To The Last; And, If Cervantes Had Been Greater Still, He Had Made His Don A Donna.