There Seems A Life In Hair, Though

Affection, Like Melancholy, Magnifies Trifles; But The Magnifying Of The One Is Like Looking Through A Telescope At Heavenly Objects; That Of The Other, Like Enlarging Monsters With A Microscope.

Mirth Itself Is Too Often But Melancholy In Disguise.

Those Who Have Lost An Infant Are Never, As It Were, Without An Infant Child. Their Other Children Grow Up To Manhood And Womanhood, And Suffer All The Changes Of Mortality; But This One Alone Is Rendered An Immortal Child; For Death Has Arrested It With His Kindly Harshness, And Blessed It Into An Eternal Image Of Youth And Innocence.

There Seems A Life In Hair, Though It Be Dead.

Danger For Danger's Sake Is Senseless.