feelings of man are always pure and the brightest to the meeting time and Farewell.
Because the heart beats under a covering of hair, of fur, feathers, or wings, it is, for that reason, to be of no account?
A man never discloses his own character so clearly as when he describes anothers.
Passion makes the best observations and the sorriest conclusions.
Fancy rules over two thirds of the universe, the past, and future, while reality is confined to the present
With so many thousand joys, is it not black ingratitude to call the world a place of sorrow and torment?