More Than Kisses, Letters Mingle Souls.

Now God Comes To Thee, Not As In The Dawning Of The Day, Not As In The Bud Of The Spring, But As The Sun At Noon To Illustrate All Shadows, As The Sheaves In Harvest, To Fill All Penuries, All Occasions Invite His Mercies, And All Times Are His Seasons.

No Spring Nor Summer Beauty Hath Such Grace As I Have Seen In One Autumnal Face.

Ask Not For Whom The Bell Tolls; It Tolls For Thee

When One Man Dies, One Chapter Is Not Torn Out Of The Book, But Translated Into A Better Language.

Art Is The Most Passionate Orgy Within Man's Grasp.