Turn The Key Deftly In The Oiled

The Creature Has A Purpose, And His Eyes Are Bright With It.

Praise Or Blame Has But A Momentary Effect On The Man Whose Love Of Beauty In The Abstract Makes Him A Severe Critic On His Own Works.

I Would Sooner Fail Than Not Be Among The Greatest.

I Am Certain I Have Not A Right Feeling Towards Women -- At This Moment I Am Striving To Be Just To Them, But I Cannot. Is It Because They Fall So Far Beneath My Boyish Imagination? When I Was A Schoolboy I Thought A Fair Woman A Pure Goddess; My Mind Was A Soft Nest In Which Some One Of Them Slept, Though She Knew It Not.

Thou Art A Dreaming Thing, A Fever Of Thyself.