Art Need No Longer Be An Account

Sad; So Sad, Those Smoky-rose, Smoky-mauve Evenings Of Late Autumn, Sad Enough To Pierce The Heart.

Nostalgia, The Vice Of The Aged.

For All Cats Have This Particularity, Each And Every One, From The Meanest Alley Sneaker To The Proudest, Whitest She That Ever Graced A Pontiff's Pillow — We Have Our Smiles, As It Were, Painted On. Those Small, Cool, Quite Mona Lisa Smiles That Smile We Must, No Matter Whether It's Been Fun Or It's Been Not. So All Cats Have A Politician's Air; We Smile And Smile And So They Think We're Villains

She Herself Is A Haunted House. She Does Not Possess Herself; Her Ancestors Sometimes Come And Peer Out Of The Windows Of Her Eyes And That Is Very Frightening. From "the Lady Of The Haunted House

The Kind Of Power Mothers Have Is Enormous.