The Fearless Make Their Own Way.

A Woman's Fame Is The Tomb Of Her Happiness.

That Which Is Always Within Our Reach, Is Always The Last Thing We Take; And The Chances Are, That What We Can Do Every Day, We Never Do At All.

Social Life Is Filled With Doubts And Vain Aspirings; Solitude, When The Imagination Is Dethroned, Is Turned To Weariness And Ennui.

Habit Is Our Idea Of Eternity.

Youth, Balancing Itself Upon Hope, Is Forever In Extremes: Its Expectations Are Continually Aroused Only To Be Baffled, And Disappointment, Like A Summer Shower, Is Violent In Proportion To Its Brevity.