A Slowness To Applaud Betrays A Cold

It Is The Large Aggregate Of Small Things Perpetually Occurring That Robs Me Of All My Time. The Expense Of Learning To Read Might Have Been Spared In My Education, For I Never Read.

To Those Who Know Thee Not, No Words Can Paint! And Those Who Know Thee, Know All Words Are Faint!

The Artful Injury, Whose Venomed Dart Scarce Wounds The Hearing, While It Stabs The Heart.

Sensibility Appears To Me To Be Neither Good Nor Evil In Itself, But In Its Application. Under The Influence Of Christian Principle, It Makes Saints And Martyrs; Ill-directed, Or Uncontrolled, It Is A Snare, And The Source Of Every Temptation; Besides, As People Cannot Get It If It Is Not Given Them, To Descant On It Seems To Me As Idle As To Recommend People To Have Black Eyes Or Fair Complexions.

In Grief We Know The Worst Of What We Feel But Who Can Tell The End Of What We Fear?