She Hates Everything That Is Not What

We Learn Words By Rote, But Not Their Meaning; That Must Be Paid For With Our Life-blood, And Printed In The Subtle Fibres Of Our Nerves.

A Fine Lady Is A Squirrel-headed Thing, With Small Airs And Small Notions; About As Applicable To The Business Of Life As A Pair Of Tweezers To The Clearing Of A Forest.

Delicious Autumn! My Very Soul Is Wedded To It.

The Responsibility Of Tolerance Lies With Those Who Have The Wider Vision.

We Are All Of Us Imaginative In Some Form Or Other, For Images Are The Brood Of Desire.