The Same Fact That Boccaccio Offers In

Every Woman Is The Gift Of A World To Me.

The People Have No Ear, Either For Rhythm Or Music, And Their Unnatural Passion For Pianoforte Playing And Singing Is Thus All The More Repulsive. There Is Nothing On Earth More Terrible Than English Music, Except English Painting.

The Lotus Flower Is Troubled At The Sun's Resplendent Light; With Sunken Head And Sadly She Dreamily Waits For The Night.

Great Genius Takes Shape By Contact With Another Great Genius, But Less By Assimilation Than By Friction.

God Will Pardon Me. It Is His Trade.