The Great Artist Is A

None But Those Who Have Loved Can Be Supposed To Understand The Oratory Of The Eye, The Mute Eloquence Of A Look, Or The Conversational Powers Of The Face. Love's Sweetest Meanings Are Unspoken; The Full Heart Knows No Rhetoric Of Words, And Resorts To The Pantomime Of Sighs And Glances.

Whether One Talks Well Depends Very Much Upon Whom He Has To Talk To.

A Woman's Love, Like Lichens Upon A Rock, Will Still Grow Where Even Charity Can Find No Soil To Nurture Itself.

Economy Is For The Poor; The Rich May Dispense With It.

Tears Are Nature's Lotion For The Eyes. The Eyes See Better For Being Washed By Them.