Memoirs Are The Backstairs Of History.

A House With A Great Wine Stored Below Lives In Our Imagination As A Joyful House, Fast And Splendidly Rooted In The Soil.

Around The Ancient Track Marched, Rank On Rank, The Army Of Unalterable Law.

Days, When The Ball Of Our Vision Had Eagles That Flew Unabashed To Sun; When The Graps On The Bow Was Decision, And Arrow And Hand And Eye Were One; When The Pleasures, Like Waves To A Swimmer, Came Heaving For Rapture Ahead! - Invoke Them, They Dwindle, They Glimmer As Lights Over Mounds Of The Dead.

Among The Diaries Beginning With The Second Quarter Of Our Century, There Is Frequent Mention Of A Lady Then Becoming Famous For Her Beauty And Her Wit: "an Unusual Combination," In The Deliberate Syllables Of One Of The Writers, Who Is, However, Not Disposed To Personal Irony When Speaking Of Her.

Speech Is The Small Change Of Silence.