Men, Like Musical Instruments, Seem Made To

We Absolve A Friend From Gratitude When We Remind Him Of A Favor.

None But Those Who Have Loved Can Be Supposed To Understand The Oratory Of The Eye, The Mute Eloquence Of A Look, Or The Conversational Powers Of The Face. Love's Sweetest Meanings Are Unspoken; The Full Heart Knows No Rhetoric Of Words, And Resorts To The Pantomime Of Sighs And Glances.

It Is The Nature Of Thought To Find Its Way Into Action.

Contentment Is Not Happiness. An Oyster May Be Contented. Happiness Is Compounded Of Richer Elements.

The Great Artist Is A Slave To His Ideals.