There Can Be No Excess To Love,

We Do Not Live An Equal Life, But One Of Contrasts And Patchwork; Now A Little Joy, Then A Sorrow, Now A Sin, Then A Generous Or Brave Action.

All Are Needed By Each One; Nothing Is Fair Or Good Alone.

The Religions We Call False Were Once True.

Our Impatience Of Miles, When We Are In A Hurry; But It Is Still Best That A Mile Should Have Seventeen Hundred And Sixty Yards.

There Is Simply The Rose; It Is Perfect In Every Moment Of Its Existence.