Talk Of The Devil, And His Horns

No Voice; But Oh - The Silence Sank Like Music On My Heart.

There Is Nothing Insignificant-nothing.

But Oh! Each Visitation Suspends What Nature Gave Me Any My Birth, My Shaping Spirit Of Imagination.

Motives Are Symptoms Of Weakness, And Supplements For The Deficient Energy Of The Living Principle, The Law Within Us. Let Them Then Be Reserved For Those Momentous Acts And Duties In Which The Strongest And Best-balanced Natures Must Feel Themselves Deficient, And Where Humility No Less Than Prudence Prescribes Deliberation.

There Are Three Classes Into Which All The Women Past Seventy That Ever I Knew Were To Be Divided: 1. That Dear Old Soul; 2. That Old Woman; 3. That Old Witch.