The Matrimonial Shoe Pinches Me.

There Is No Corner Too Quiet, Or Too Far Away, For A Woman To Make Sorrow In It.

For Still I See That Forethought Spares Afterthought And After-sorrow.

The Fate Of Love Is That It Always Seems Too Little Or Too Much.

All Changes Are More Or Less Tinged With Melancholy, For What We Are Leaving Behind Is Part Of Ourselves.

Oh, The Soul Keeps Its Youth!