Love Has No Age, No Limit; And

As A Man Lives And Thinks, So He Will Write.

It Is An Age Of Stir And Change, A Season Of New Wine And Old Bottles. Yet, Assuredly, In Spite Of Breakages And Waste, A Wine Worth The Drinking Is All The Time Being Made.

The Forsytes Were Resentful Of Something, Not Individually, But As A Family; This Resentment Expressed Itself In An Added Perfection Of Raiment, An Exuberance Of Family Cordiality, An Exaggeration Of Family Importance, And The Sniff. Danger So Indispensable In Bringing Out The Fundamental Quality Of Any Society, Group, Or Individual Was What The Forsytes Scented; The Premonition Of Danger Put A Burnish On Their Armour. For The First Time, As A Family, They Appeared To Have An Instinct Of Being In Contact, With Some Strange And Unsafe Thing.

Men Are In Fact, Quite Unable To Control Their Own Inventions; They At Best Develop Adaptability To The New Conditions Those Inventions Create.

There Are Moments When Nature Reveals The Passion Hidden Beneath The Careless Calm Of Her Ordinary Moods-violent Spring Flashing White On Almond-blossom Through The Purple Clouds; A Snowy, Moonlit Peak, With Its Single Star, Soaring Up To The Passionate Blue; Or Against The Flames Of Sunset, An Old Yew-tree Standing Dark Guardian Of Some Fiery Secret.