I Am Patient With Stupidity But Not

Your Soul: Pure Glucose Edged With Hints Of Tentative And Half-soiled Tints

The Child And The Great Artist -- These Alone Receive The Sensation Fresh As It Was At The Beginning Of The World.

... All Ugliness Passes, And Beauty Endures, Excepting Of The Skin.

Isn't It Curious How One Has Only To Open A Book Of Verse To Realise Immediately That It Was Written By A Very Fine Poet, Or Else That It Was Written By Someone Who Is Not A Poet At All. In The Case Of The Former, The Lines, The Images, Though They Are Inherent In Each Other, Leap Up And Give One This Shock Of Delight. In The Case Of The Latter, They Lie Flat On The Page, Never Having Lived.

Another Little Drink Wouldn't Do Us Any Harm.