Beauty Too Often Sacrifices To Fashion.

It Flows Through Old Hushed Egypt And Its Sands, Like Some Grave Mighty Thought Threading A Dream, And Times And Things, As In That Vision, Seem Keeping Along It Their Eternal Stands.

There Are Two Worlds: The World That We Can Measure With Line And Rule, And The World We Feel With Our Hearts And Imaginations.

We Are Slumberous Poppies, Lords Of Lethe Downs, Some Awake And Some Asleep, Sleeping In Our Crowns. What Perchance Our Dreams May Know, Let Our Serious May Know.

It Is Our Daily Duty To Consider That In All Circumstances Of Life, Pleasurable, Painful, Or Otherwise, The Conduct Of Others, Especially Of Those In The Same House; And That, As Life Is Made Up, For The Most Part, Not Of Great Occasions, But Of Small Everyday Moments, It Is The Giving To Those Moments Their Greatest Amount Of Peace, Pleasantness, And Security, That Contributes Most To The Sum Of Human Good. Be Peaceable. Be Cheerful. Be True.

The Drama Is Not A Mere Copy Of Nature, Not A Facsimile. It Is The Free Running Hand Of Genius, Under The Impression Of Its Liveliest Wit Or Most Passionate Impulses, A Thousand Times Adorning Or Feeling All As It Goes; And You Must Read It, As The Healthy Instinct Of Audiences Almost Always Does, If The Critics Will Let Them Alone, With A Grain Of Allowance, And A Tendency To Go Away With As Much Of It For Use As Is Necessary, And The Rest For The Luxury Of Laughter, Pity, Or Poetical Admiration.