Love Is Cruel As The Grave.

The Heart Of Silver Falls Ever Into The Hands Of Brass. The Sensitive Herb Is Eaten As Grass By The Swine.

We Do Not Want To Think. We Do Not Want To Hear. We Do Not Care About Anything. Only Give Us A Good Dinner And Plenty Of Money, And Let Us Outshine Our Neighbors. There Is The Nineteenth Century Gospel.

The Joy Of A Strong Nature Is As Cloudless As Its Suffering Is Desolate.

Flowers Belong To Fairyland: The Flowers And The Birds And The Butterflies Are All That The World Has Kept Of Its Golden Age--the Only Perfectly Beautiful Things On Earth--joyous, Innocent, Half Divine--useless, Say They Who Are Wiser Than God.

Woman's Fatal Weakness Is To Desire Sympathy And Comprehension. --"wanda