No Thoroughly Occupied Man Was

My Tears Are Buried In My Heart, Like Cave-locked Fountains Sleeping.

There Is The Cause For Pleasure And For Pain: But Music Moves Us, And We Know Not Why? We Feel The Tears, But Cannot Trace Their Source. Is It The Language Of Some Other State, Born Of Its Memory! For What Can Wake The Soul's Strong Instinct Of Another World, Like Music！

We Are Rarely Wrong When We Act From Impulse.

Whenever I Hear A Man Talking Of The Advantages Of Our Ill-used Sex, I Look Upon It As The Prelude To Some New Act Of Authority.

Childhood, Whose Very Happiness Is Love.