A Man Of Letters, Merely By Reading

She Was "a Woman Of Uncertain Age.

There Are Optical Illusions In Time As Well As Space.

A Certain Similarity Exists, Although The Type Evolves, Between All The Women We Love, A Similarity That Is Due To The Fixity Of Our Own Temperament, Which It Is That Chooses Them, Eliminating All Those Who Would Not Be At Once Our Opposite And Our Complement, Fitted That Is To Say To Gratify Our Senses And To Wring Our Heart.

We Are All Of Us Obliged, If We Are To Make Reality Endurable, To Nurse A Few Little Follies In Ourselves.

We Are At Times Too Ready To Believe That The Present Is The Only Possible State Of Things.