Oh, Only Those Whose Souls Have Felt

We Would Liken Music To Aladdin's Lamp — Worthless In Itself, Not So For The Spirits Which Obey Its Call. We Love It For The Buried Hopes, The Garnered Memories, The Tender Feelings, It Can Summon With A Touch.

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

Charity Is A Calm, Severe Duty; It Must Be Intellectual, To Be Advantageous. It Is A Strange Mistake That It Should Ever Be Considered A Merit; Its Fulfillment Is Only What We Owe To Each Other, And Is A Debt Never Paid To Its Full Extent.

Hope Is Love's Happiness, But Not Its Life.

Delicious Tears! The Heart's Own Dew.