Write Me As One Who Loves His

We Are Slumberous Poppies, Lords Of Lethe Downs, Some Awake And Some Asleep, Sleeping In Our Crowns. What Perchance Our Dreams May Know, Let Our Serious May Know.

Wit Is The Clash And Reconcilement Of Incongruities; The Meeting Of Extremes Round A Corner.

Great Women Belong To History And To Self-sacrifice, Not To The Annals Of A Stage, However Dignified.

Did You Ever Observe That Immoderate Laughter Always Ends In A Sigh?

The Rapturuous, Wild, And Ineffable Pleasure Of Drinking At Somebody Else's Expense