I Love Thee, As The Good Love

Whenever Nature Leaves A Hole In A Person's Mind, She Generally Plasters It Over With A Thick Coat Of Self-conceit.

Whatever Poet, Orator, Or Sage May Say Of It, Old Age Is Still Old Age.

It Is Folly To Pretend That One Ever Wholly Recovers From A Disappointed Passion. Such Wounds Always Leave A Scar. There Are Faces I Can Never Look Upon Without Emotion, There Are Names I Can Never Hear Spoken Without Almost Starting.

Winter Giveth The Fields, And The Trees So Old, Their Beards Of Icicles And Snow.

Talk Not Of Wasted Affection - Affection Never Was Wasted.