Some Natures Are Too Good To Be

Every Man Beholds His Human Condition With A Degree Of Melancholy. As A Ship Aground Is Battered By The Waves, So Man, Imprisonedin Mortal Life, Lies Open To The Mercy Of Coming Events.

Want Is A Growing Giant Whom The Coat Of Have Was Never Large Enough To Cover.

What Is Excellent, As God Lives, Is Permanent; Hearts Are Dust, Hearts' Loves Remain, Heart's Love Will Meet Thee Again.

There Is A Capacity Of Virtue In Us, And There Is A Capacity Of Vice To Make Your Blood Creep.

And Yet--it Is Not Beauty That Inspires The Deepest Passion. Beauty Without Grace Is The Hook Without The Bait. Beauty, Without Expression, Tires.