The Less Said The Better.

One Cannot Be Always Laughing At A Man Without Now And Then Stumbling On Something Witty.

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.

She Wished Such Words Unsaid With All Her Heart

Wickedness Is Always Wickedness, But Folly Is Not Always Folly.

Trusting That You Will Some Time Or Other Do Me Greater Justice Than You Can Do Now.