Marriage, From Love, Like Vinegar From Wine--

If I Don't Write To Empty My Mind, I Go Mad. As To That Regular, Uninterrupted Love Of Writing. I Do Not Understand It. I Feel It As A Torture, Which I Must Get Rid Of, But Never As A Pleasure. On The Contrary, I Think Composition A Great Pain.

A Man Of Eighty Has Outlived Probably Three New Schools Of Painting, Two Of Architecture And Poetry And A Hundred In Dress.

Tis An Old Lesson; Time Approves It True, And Those Who Know It Best, Deplore It Most; When All Is Won That All Desire To Woo, The Paltry Prize Is Hardly Worth The Cost.

You Gave Me The Key To Your Heart, My Love, Then Why Did You Make Me Knock?

And Doubt And Discord Step 'twixt Thine And Thee.