Dreams Have Only The Pigmentation Of Fact.

Love Becomes The Deposit Of The Heart, Analogous In All Degrees To The 'findings' In A Tomb. As In One Will Be Charted The Taken Place Of The Body, The Raiment, The Utensils Necessary To Its Other Life, So In The Heart Of The Lover Will Be Traced, As An Indelible Shadow, That Which He Loves.

The Seal, She Lounges Like A Bride,much Too Docile, There's No Doubt;madame Récamier, On Side,(if Such She Has), And Bottom Out.

None Of Us Suffers As Much As We Should, Or Loves As Much As We Say. Love Is The First Lie; Wisdom The Last.

There Is Always More Surface To A Shattered Object Than A Whole.

Madness To Us Means Reversion; To Such People As Una And Lena It Meant Progression. Now Their Uncle Had Entered Into A Land Beyond Them, The Land Of Fancy. For Fifty Years He Had Been As They Were, Silent, Hard-working, Unimaginative. Then All Of A Sudden, Like A Scholar Passing His Degree, He Had Gone Up Into Another Form.