In a Man's Letters you know, Madam, his soul lies naked, his letters are only the mirrour of his breast.
Samuel JohnsonFriendship, compounded of esteem and love, derives from one its tenderness and its permanence from the other.
Samuel JohnsonIn a Man's Letters you know, Madam, his soul lies naked, his letters are only the mirrour of his breast.
Samuel JohnsonFriendship, compounded of esteem and love, derives from one its tenderness and its permanence from the other.
Samuel Johnson