Habit Is Our Idea Of Eternity.

I Hate The Word 'ought' - It Always Implies Something Dull, Cold, And Commonplace. The 'ought Nots' Of Life Are Its Pleasantest Things.

The Truth Is, We Like To Talk Over Our Disasters, Because They Are Ours; And Others Like To Listen, Because They Are Not Theirs.

There Are Words To Paint The Misery Of Love, But None To Paint Its Happiness.

Habit Is A Second Nature, And What Was At First Pleasure, Is Next Necessity.

Politeness, However, Acts The Lady's Maid To Our Thoughts; And They Are Washed, Dressed, Curled, Rouged, And Perfumed, Before They Are Presented To The Public.