If I Hate The Sins, I Love

Preserve Me From Such Cordiality! It Is Like Handling Briar-roses And May-blossoms - Bright Enough To The Eye, And Outwardly Soft To The Touch, But You Know There Are Thorns Beneath, And Every Now And Then You Feel Them Too; And Perhaps Resent The Injury By Crushing Them In Till You Have Destroyed Their Power, Though Somewhat To The Detriment Of Your Own Fingers.

A Little Girl Loves Her Bird--why? Because It Lives And Feels; Because It Is Helpless And Harmless? A Toad, Likewise, Lives And Feels, And Is Equally Helpless And Harmless; But Though She Would Not Hurt A Toad, She Cannot Love It Like The Bird, With Its Graceful Form, Soft Feathers, And Bright, Speaking Eyes.

There's Nothing Like Active Employment, I Suppose, To Console The Afflicted.

My Cup Of Sweets Is Not Unmingled: It Is Dashed With A Bitterness That I Cannot Hide From Myself, Disguise It As I Will.

I Was Not Really Angry: I Felt For Him All The Time, And Longed To Be Reconciled; But I Determined He Should Make The First Advances, Or At Least Show Some Signs Of An Humble And Contrite Spirit, First; For, If I Began, It Would Only Minister To His Self-conceit, Increase His Arrogance, And Quite Destroy The Lesson I Wanted To Give Him.