We Touch Heaven When We Lay Our

Friendship, Love, And Piety Ought To Be Handled With A Sort Of Mysterious Secrecy; They Ought To Be Spoken Of Only In The Rare Moments Of Perfect Confidence, To Be Mutually Understood In Silence. Many Things Are Too Delicate To Be Thought; Many More, To Be Spoken.

One Can Not Understand Language Because Language Cannot Understand Itself; Does Not Want To Understand

What Delights, What Pleasures Does Your Life Offer You That Outweigh The Raptures Of Death?

All The Events Of Our Life Are Materials Of Which We Can Make What We Will.

Life Must Not Be A Novel That Is Given To Us, But One That Is Made By Us.