My Words In Her Mind: Cold Polished

Human Society Is The Embodiment Of Changeless Laws Which The Whimsicalities And Circumstances Of Men And Women Involve And Overwrap. The Realm Of Literature Is The Realm Of These Accidental Manners And Humours--a Spacious Realm; And The True Literary Artist Concerns Himself Mainly With Them.

The Artist, Like The God Of The Creation, Remains Within Or Behind Or Beyond Or Above His Handiwork, Invisible, Refined Out Of Existence, Indifferent, Paring His Fingernails.

Wipe Your Glosses With What You Know.

But We Are Living In A Sceptical And, If I May Use The Phrase, A Thought-tormented Age: And Sometimes I Fear That This New Generation, Educated Or Hyper-educated As It Is, Will Lack Those Qualities Of Humanity, Of Hospitality, Of Kindly Humour Which Belonged To An Older Day.

I Desire To Press In My Arms The Loveliness Which Has Not Yet Come Into The World.