Words Are Leaves, The Substance Consists Of

The Past Cannot Be Cured.

Grief Never Ends, But It Changes. It Is A Passage, Not A Place To Stay. Grief Is Not A Sign Of Weakness Nor A Lack Of Faith: It Is The Price Of Love.

If Our Web Be Framed With Rotten Handles, When Our Loom Is Well Nigh Done, Our Work Is New To Begin. God Send The Weaver True Prentices Again, And Let Them Be Denizens.

I Have Never Been Able To Be So Allured By The Prospect Of Advantages Or So Terrified By Misfortunes, Swayed By Honours Or Fettered By Affection, Nay Not Even So Smitten By The Fear Of Death, As To Enter Upon Marriage.

Let Tyrants Fear, I Have Always So Behaved Myself That, Under God, I Have Placed My Chiefest Strength And Safeguard In The Loyal Hearts And Good-will Of My Subjects.