It Merely Shews, After All, That Affection

Ah, Tell Me Not That Memory Sheds Gladness O'er The Past; What Is Recalled By Faded Flowers, Save That They Did Not Last? Were It Not Better To Forget, Than But Remember And Regret?

The Truth Is, We Like To Talk Over Our Disasters, Because They Are Ours; And Others Like To Listen, Because They Are Not Theirs.

A Woman's Fame Is The Tomb Of Her Happiness.

Jealousy Ought To Be Tragic, To Save It From Being Ridiculous.

The Fearless Make Their Own Way.