But Whether It Be Dream

A Good Action Is Never Lost; It Is A Treasure Laid Up And Guarded For The Doer's Need.

No Windows Give A Better View Than Those A Man Brings With Him In His Head, Not Asking For Tickets Of Admission, Since At All Functions, Festivals, Or Feasts He Looks Out With The Same Nice Self-composure.

When Love Is Not Madness, It Is Not Love.

Dreams Are Rough Copies Of The Waking Soul Yet Uncorrected Of The Higher Will, So That Men Sometimes In Their Dreams Confess An Unsuspected, Or Forgotten, Self; -since Dreaming, Madness, Passion, Are Akin In Missing Each That Salutory Rein Of Reason, And The Grinding Will Of Man.

At The Point When Affection Is Not Frenzy, It Is Not Adore.