Dispel Not, The Happy Delusions Of Children.

There Is No Crime Of Which I Do Not Deem Myself Capable.

Everything Perfect In Its Kind Has To Transcend Its Own Kind, It Must Become Something Different And Incomparable. In Some Notes The Nightingale Is Still A Bird; Then It Rises Above Its Class And Seems To Suggest To Every Winged Creature What Singing Is Truly Like.

Just As, Out Of Habit, One Consults A Run-down Clock As Though It Were Still Going, So Too One May Look At The Face Of A Beautiful Woman As Though He Still Loved Her.

We Love A Girl For Very Different Qualities Than Understanding. We Love Her For Her Beauty, Her Youth, Her Mirth, Her Confidingness, Her Character, With Its Faults, Caprices And God Knows What Other Inexpressible Charms; But We Do Not Love Her Understanding.

Like The Star That Shines Afar, Without Haste And Without Rest, Let Each One Wheel With Steady Sway Round The Task That Rules The Day, And Do Their Best.