My Tears Are Buried In

Habit Is Our Idea Of Eternity.

In Sad Truth, Half Our Forebodings Of Our Neighbors Are But Our Own Wishes, Which We Are Ashamed To Utter In Any Other Form.

Oh, No! My Heart Can Never Be Again In Lightest Hopes The Same; The Love That Lingers There For Thee Hath More Of Ashes Than Of Flame.

The Old Proverb, Applied To Fire And Water, May With Equal Truth Be Applied To The Imagination - It Is A Good Servant, But A Bad Master.

The Stars Are So Far, Far Away!