... Love Is Too Delicate A Flower

The More You Lose The Right To Be Jealous, The More So You Become!

The Old Woman I Shall Become Will Be Quite Different From The Woman I Am Now. Another I Is Beginning.

Time Is Always Wanting To Me, And I Cannot Meet With A Single Day When I Am Nut Hurried Along, Driven To By Wits'-end By Urgent Work, Business To Attent Do Or Some Service To Render.

One Approaches The Journey's End. But The End Is A Goal, Not A Catastrophe.

Fame And Admiration Weigh Not A Feather In The Scale Against Friendship And Love, For The Heart Languishes All The Same.