Look At This Tangle Of Thorns.

That Swimming, Sloping, Elusive Something About The Dark-bluish Tint Of The Iris Which Seemed Still To Retain The Shadows It Had Absorbed Of Ancient, Fabulous Forests Where There Were More Birds Than Tigers And More Fruit Than Thorns, And Where, In Some Dappled Depth, Man's Mind Had Been Born.

Only Talent Interests Me In Paintings And Books. Not General Ideas, But The Individual Contribution.

Most Of The Dandelions Had Changed From Suns To Moons.

Nostalgia In Reverse, The Longing For Yet Another Strange Land, Grew Especially Strong In Spring.

I Have The European Urge To Use My Feet When A Drive Can Be Dispensed With.