Within Today, Tomorrow Is Already

A Bitter And Perplexed "what Shall I Do?" Is Worse To Man Than Worse Necessity.

Sympathy Constitutes Friendship; But In Love There Is A Sort Of Antipathy, Or Opposing Passion. Each Strives To Be The Other, And Both Together Make Up One Whole.

The First Class Of Readers May Be Compared To An Hour-glass, Their Reading Being As The Sand; It Runs In And Runs Out, And Leaves Not A Vestige Behind. A Second Class Resembles A Sponge, Which Imbibes Everything, And Returns It In Nearly The Same State, Only A Little Dirtier. A Third Class Is Like A Jelly-bag, Which Allows All That Is Pure To Pass Away, And Retains Only The Refuse And Dregs. The Fourth Class May Be Compared To The Slave Of Golconda, Who, Casting Aside All That Is Worthless, Preserves Only The Pure Gems.

How Strange And Awful Is The Synthesis Of Life And Death In The Gusty Winds And Falling Leaves Of An Autumnal Day!

A Man's Desire Is For The Woman, But The Woman's Desire Is Rarely Other Than For The Desire Of The Man.