Human Beings Never Enjoy Complete Happiness In

There Is, I Am Convinced, No Picture That Conveys In All Its Dreadfulness, A Vision Of Sorrow, Despairing, Remediless, Supreme. If I Could Paint Such A Picture, The Canvas Would Show Only A Woman Looking Down At Her Empty Arms.

Out Of Association Grows Adhesion, And Out Of Adhesion Amalgamation.

I'm Just Going To Write Because I Cannot Help It.

Reserved People Often Really Need The Frank Discussion Of Their Sentiments And Griefs More Than The Expansive. The Sternest-seeming Stoic Is Human After All, And To Burst With Boldness And Good-will Into The Silent Sea Of Their Souls Is Often To Confer On Them The First Of Obligations.

Am I Hideous, Jane? Very, Sir: You Always Were, You Know.