Not all storms restore thence, but further by thoughts bad and ill deeds fed, stay the bringer, quarrelsome under his own blizzard abiding and spares every mans cottage under a bliss but his own. Stall the outrage gentle heart, or break; into a thousand tiny pieces flung by perspectives chilly after gale, and lost. Do not swell to custom but become. Retire to quietude once in a splendid while, adopt an equable climate. Read a quiet book; how they grand tales contain. Hang the senses upon a soothing ballad and by a candle lit, burrow down, deep into yourself, through the furthermost caverns of you. Find that trembling being, huddled in the dark.