A Married Woman Is A Slave You

I Yield To Your Wishes. It Is The Privilege Of The Women Whom We Love More Than They Love Us To Make The Men Who Love Them Ignore The Ordinary Rules Of Common-sense.

Love And Work Have The Virtues Of Making A Man Pretty Indifferent To Anything Else.

It Is Not Hope But Despair That Gives Us The Measure Of Our Ambitions. We May Yield Secretly To Beautiful Poems Of Hope But Grief Looms Start And Stripped Of All Veils.

I Believe In The Incomprehensibility Of God.

The Innocence Of Virgins Is Like Milk Which Turns When Exposed To A Clap Of Thunder, To A Tart Smell, To A Hot Day, To The Merest Nothing.