There Is No Passion, More

The Waves Were Dead; The Tides Were In Their Grave, The Moon, Their Mistress, Had Expir'd Before; The Winds Were Wither'd In The Stagnant Air, And The Clouds Perish'd; Darkness Had No Need Of Aid From Them-she Was The Universe.

Hatred Is The Madness Of The Heart.

I Love Not Man The Less, But Nature More.

I Cannot Help Thinking That The Menace Of Hell Makes As Many Devils As The Severe Penal Codes Of Inhuman Humanity Make Villains.

The Reading Or Non-reading A Book Will Never Keep Down A Single Petticoat.