Man Is No Match For Woman Where

The Art Of Motherhood Involves Much Silent, Unobtrusive Self-denial, An Hourly Devotion Which Finds No Detail Too Minute.

Is There Any Instinct More Deeply Implanted In The Heart Of Man Than The Pride Of Protection, A Protection Which Is Constantly Exerted For A Fragile And Defenceless Creature?

Journalists Grow Accustomed To Seeing Evil And They Let It Pass; They Proceed To Approve It, And They End By Committing It Themselves.

For Pain Is Perhaps But A Violent Pleasure? Who Could Determine The Point Where Pleasure Becomes Pain, Where Pain Is Still A Pleasure? Is Not The Utmost Brightness Of The Ideal World Soothing To Us, While The Lightest Shadows Of The Physical World Annoy?

In The Silence Of Their Studios, Busied For Days At A Time With Works Which Leave The Mind Relatively Free, Painters Become Like Women; Their Thoughts Can Revolve Around The Minor Facts Of Life And Penetrate Their Hidden Meaning.