On Every Formal Visit A Child Ought

To Be Fond Of Dancing Was A Certain Step Towards Falling In Love.

Her Pleasure In The Walk Must Arise From The Exercise And The Day, From The View Of The Last Smiles Of The Year Upon The Tawny Leaves And Withered Hedges, And From Repeating To Herself Some Few Of The Thousand Poetical Descriptions Extant Of Autumn-that Season Of Peculiar And Inexhaustible Influence On The Mind Of Taste And Tenderness-that Season Which Has Drawn From Every Poet Worthy Of Being Read Some Attempt At Description, Or Some Lines Of Feeling.

...i Will Not Allow Books To Prove Any Thing." "but How Shall We Prove Any Thing?" "we Never Shall.

Know Your Own Happiness.

Heaven Forbid! -- That Would Be The Greatest Misfortune Of All! -- To Find A Man Agreeable Whom One Is Determined To Hate! -- Do Not Wish Me Such An Evil.