If in my youth I had realized that the sustaining splendour of beauty of with which I was in love would one day flood back into my heart there to ignite a flame that would torture me without end how gladly would I have put out the light in my eyes.
At fifteen beauty and talent do not exist there can only be promise of the coming woman.
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A day spent without the sight or sound of beauty the contemplation of mystery or the search of truth or perfection is a poverty-stricken day and a succession of such days is fatal to human life.
