... All Ugliness Passes, And Beauty Endures,

Virginia Woolf's Writing Is No More Than Glamorous Knitting. I Believe She Must Have A Pattern Somewhere.

Poetry Ennobles The Heart And The Eyes, And Unveils The Meaning Of All Things Upon Which The Heart And The Eyes Dwell. It Discovers The Secret Rays Of The Universe, And Restores To Us Forgotten Paradises.

By The Time I Was Eleven Years Old, I Had Been Taught That Nature, Far From Abhorring A Vacuum, Positively Adores It.

The Arts Are Life Accelerated And Concentrated.

The Trouble About Most Englishwomen Is That They Will Dress As If They Had Been A Mouse In A Previous Incarnation, Or Hope To Be One In The Next.