For Souls In Growth, Great Quarrels Are

There Are People Whose Society I Find Delicious; But When I Sit Alone And Think Of Them I Shudder.

It Is Through The Cracks In Our Brains That Ecstasy Creeps In.

This Nice And Subtle Happiness Of Reading, This Joy Not Chilled By Age, This Polite And Unpunished Vice, This Selfish, Serene Life-long Intoxication.

An Echo Of Music, A Face In The Street, The Wafer Of The New Moon, A Wanton Thought - Only In The Iridescence Of Things The Vagabond Soul Is Happy.

Every Author, However Modest, Keeps A Most Outrageous Vanity Chained Like A Madman In The Padded Cell Of His Breast.