When Men Do Not Love Their Hearth,

Flowers Seem Intended For The Solace Of Ordinary Humanity.

It Is Impossible To Tell You The Perfect Sweetness Of The Lips And Closed Eyes, Nor The Solemnity Of The Seal Of Death Which Is Set Upon The Whole Figure. It Is, In Every Way, Perfect--truth Itself, But Truth Selected With Inconceivable Refinement Of Feeling.

Curiosity Is A Gift, A Capacity Of Pleasure In Knowing, Which If You Destroy, You Make Yourself Cold And Dull.

All Of One's Life Is Music, If One Touches The Notes Rightly, And In Time.

Without Mountains The Air Could Not Be Purified, Nor The Flowing Of The Rivers Sustained.