The Heart (n.) cannot stay young with impunity once the body no longer is.
The Heart (n.) of men is read more accurately by a woman, though men will have the better philosophy of the human heart, and the world is woman's book.
The Heart (n.) left alone holds a void that wants nothing but another heart to fill it — and for Rousseau there was never anything between everything and nothing.
The Heart (n.) can love a life in which nothing suits one's taste: none of the drudgery suited him, but all of it suited his heart.
The Heart (n.) opens to another heart that speaks: a loving woman's artless confidences teach more than all a pedagogue's pompous morality.
The Heart (n.) is where our rules of conduct should originate; not conscience, for conscience is a sophist. Whatever we feel to be good is good. Whatever we feel to be evil is evil.