There Is Nothing To Save, Now All

Happiness Was A Term Of Hypocrisy Used To Bluff Other People.

Beauty Is A Mystery. You Can Neither Eat It Nor Make Flannel Out Of It.

He Felt He Had Lost It For Good, He Knew What It Was To Have Been In Communication With Her, And To Be Cast Off Again. In Misery, His Heart Like A Heavy Stone, He Went About Unliving.

Tragedy Ought Really To Be A Great Kick At Misery.

We Are So Overwhelmed With Quantities Of Books, That We Hardly Realise Any More That A Book Can Be Valuable, Valuable Like A Jewel, Or A Lovely Picture, Into Which You Can Look Deeper And Deeper And Get A More Profound Experience Every Time.