I Have No Parting Sigh To Give,

There Is No Wretchedness Like Self-reproach.

Delicious Tears! The Heart's Own Dew.

If There Be Any One Habit Which More Than Another Is The Dry Rot Of All That Is High And Generous In Youth, It Is The Habit Of Ridicule.

It Merely Shews, After All, That Affection Is A Habit.

The Fact Is, That Life Is Too Short To Be Occupied By Aught But The Present - Hope And Remembrance Are Equally A Waste Of Time.