I Take A Dose Of Mathematics Every

Love At Its Highest Flood Rushes Beyond Its Object, And Loses Itself In The Sense Of Divine Mystery.

Wit Is A Form Of Force That Leaves The Limbs At Rest.

In Bed Our Yesterdays Are Too Oppressive: If A Man Can Only Get Up, Though It Be But To Whistle Or To Smoke, He Has A Present Which Offers Some Resistance To The Past—sensations Which Assert Themselves Against Tyrannous Memories.

In High Vengeance There Is Noble Scorn.

We Want People To Feel With Us More Than To Act For Us.