Never Sign A Valentine With Your Own

If I May So Express It, I Was Steeped In Dora. I Was Not Merely Over Head And Ears In Love With Her, But I Was Saturated Through And Through. Enough Love Might Have Been Wrung Out Of Me, Metaphorically Speaking, To Drown Anybody In; And Yet There Would Have Remained Enough Within Me, And All Over Me, To Pervade My Entire Existence.

Remembrance, Like A Candle, Burns Brightest At Christmastime.

If A Dread Of Not Being Understood Be Hidden In The Breasts Of Other Young People To Anything Like The Extent To Which It Used To Be Hidden In Mine - Which I Consider Probable, As I Have No Particular Reason To Suspect Myself Of Having Been A Monstrosity - It Is The Key To Many Reservations.

I Distress You; I Draw Fast To An End.

... The Woman Who Grows Up With The Idea That She Is Simply To Be An Amiable Animal, To Be Caressed And Coaxed, Is Invariably A Bitterly Disappointed Woman. A Game Of Chess Will Cure Such A Conceit Forever. The Woman That Knows The Most, Thinks The Most, Feels The Most, Is The Most. Intellectual Affection Is The Only Lasting Love. Love That Has A Game Of Chess In It Can Checkmate Any Man And Solve The Problem Of Life.