The Man As He Converses Is The

Conviction Brings A Silent, Indefinable Beauty Into Faces Made Of The Commonest Human Clay; The Devout Worshiper At Any Shrine Reflects Something Of Its Golden Glow, Even As The Glory Of A Noble Love Shines Like A Sort Of Light From A Woman's Face.

Children, Dear And Loving Children, Can Alone Console A Woman For The Loss Of Her Beauty.

We Are Scarcely Apt To Berate The Source Of Enjoyment.

I'm A Great Poet. I Don't Put My Poems On Paper: They Consist Of Actions And Feelings.

Your Women Of Fashion Ceases To Be A Woman. She Is Neither Mother, Nor Wife, Nor Lover. She Is, Medically Speaking, Sex On The Brain.