Heiresses Are Never Jilted.

O Have A Care Of Natures That Are Mute!

Darker Grows The Valley, More And More Forgetting: So Were It With Me If Forgetting Could Be Willed. Tell The Grassy Hollow That Holds The Bubbling Well-spring, Tell It To Forget The Source That Keeps It Filled.

Prepare, You Lovers, To Know Love A Thing Of Moods: Not Like Hard Life, Of Laws.

George Eliot Has The Heart Of Sappho; But The Face, With The Long Proboscis, The Protruding Teeth Of The Apocalyptic Horse, Betrayed Animality.

The Debts We Owe Ourselves Are The Hardest To Pay.