My! Ain't Men Blinder'n Moles?

Life Is A Stream On Which We Strew Petal By Petal The Flower Of Our Heart.

Happiness, To Some, Is Elation; To Others It Is Mere Stagnation.

Don’t Ask A Writer What He’s Working On. It’s Like Asking Someone With Cancer On The Progress Of His Disease.

How Much More Beautiful Is The Moon, Slanting Down The Gauffered Branches Of A Plum-tree; The Moon Wavering Across A Bed Of Tulips; The Moon, Still, Upon Your Face. You Shine, Beloved, You And The Moon. But Which Is The Reflection?

Not A Softness Anywhere About Me, Only Whalebone And Brocade.