In A Moving World Readaptation Is The

Beauty As We Feel It Is Something Indescribable; What It Is Or What It Means Can Never Be Said.

There Is No Greater Stupidity Or Meanness Than To Take Uniformity For An Ideal.

... So In Love The Heart Surrenders Itself Entirely To The One Being That Has Known How To Touch It. That Being Is Not Selected; It Is Recognised And Obeyed.

The Traveller Must Be Somebody And Come From Somewhere, So That His Definite Character And Moral Traditions May Supply An Organ And A Point Of Comparison For His Observations.

Love Make Us Poets, And The Approach Of Death Should Make Us Philosophers.