Every Person Born Into This World Their

Fastidiousness Is Only Another Word For Egotism; And All Men Who Know Not Where To Look For Truth Save In The Narrow Well Of Self Will Find Their Own Image At The Bottom, And Mistake It For What They Are Seeking.

May Is A Pious Fraud Of The Almanac.

Things Always Seem Fairer When We Look Back At Them, And It Is Out Of That Inaccessible Tower Of The Past That Longing Leans And Beckons.

The Nunneries Of Silent Nooks, The Murmured Longing Of The Wood.

A Stray Hair, By Its Continued Irritation, May Give More Annoyance Than A Smart Blow.