Sport And Death Are The Two Great

The Passion Of Vanity Has Its Own Depths In The Spirit, And Is Powerfully Militant.

She Had One Of Those Charming Faces Which, According To The Angle From Which You See Them, Look Either Melancholy Or Impertinent. Her Eyes Were Grey; Her Trick Of Narrowing Them Made Her Seem To Reflect, The Greater Part Of The Time, In The Dusk Of Her Second Thoughts. With That Mood, That Touch Of Arriere Pensee, Went An Uncertain, Speaking Set Of Lips.

What Is Being Said Is The Effect Of Something That Has Happened; At The Same Time, What Is Being Said Is In Itself Something Happening, Which Will, In Turn, Leave Its Effect.

The Writer, Like A Swimmer Caught By An Undertow, Is Borne In An Unexpected Direction. He Is Carried To A Subject Which Has Awaited Him--a Subject Sometimes No Part Of His Conscious Plan. Reality, The Reality Of Sensation, Has Accumulated Where It Was Least Sought. To Write Is To Be Captured--captured By Some Experience To Which One May Have Given Hardly A Thought.

Sacrificers Are Not The Ones To Pity. The Ones To Pity Are Those They Sacrifice.