Hope is the virgin of the ideal world, who opens beaten to as in the midst of every tempest.

The graves of those we have loved and lost distress and console as.

Hope is the virgin of the ideal world, who opens beaten to as in the midst of every tempest.

Genius has its fatality. Must we not see in its works a manifestation of the will of Providence?

Up to forty a woman has only forty springs in her heart. After that age she has only forty winters.

The heart is always young only in the recollection of those whom it has loved in youth.

Women of forty always fancy they have found the Fountain of Youth, and that they remain young in the midst of the ruins of their day.