Fame Is Bought By Happiness.

How Often, In This Cold And Bitter World, Is The Warm Heart Thrown Back Upon Itself! Cold, Careless, Are We Of Another's Grief; We Wrap Ourselves In Sullen Selfishness.

What Is Life? A Gulf Of Troubled Waters, Where The Soul, Like A Vexed Bark, Is Tossed Upon The Waves Of Pain And Pleasure By The Wavering Breath Of Passions.

My Heart Is Its Own Grave!

It Is Said That Ridicule Is The Test Of Truth: It Is Never Applied, But When We Wish To Deceive Ourselves.

There Is No Denying That There Are 'royal Roads' Through Existence For The Upper Classes; For Them, At Least, The Highways Are Macadamized, Swept, And Watered.