An Author Is Like A

Affection, Like Melancholy, Magnifies Trifles.

Night's Deepest Gloom Is But A Calm; That Soothes The Weary Mind: The Labored Days Restoring Balm; The Comfort Of Mankind.

Music Is The Medicine Of The Breaking Heart.

Central Depth Of Purple, Leaves More Bright Than Rose, Who Shall Tell What Brightest Thought Out Of Darkness Grows? Who, Through What Funereal Pain, Souls To Love And Peace Attain? - Leigh Hunt (james Henry Leigh Hunt

If You Become A Nun, Dear, The Bishop Love Will Be; The Cupids Every One, Dear! Will Chant-'we Trust In Thee!'