Don't Laugh At Youth For His Affectations;

What Shall I Compare It To, This Fantastic Thing I Call My Mind? To A Waste-paper Basket, To A Sieve Choked With Sediment, Or To A Barrel Full Of Floating Froth And Refuse? No, What It Is Really Most Like Is A Spider's Web, Insecurely Hung On Leaves And Twigs, Quivering In Every Wind, And Sprinkled With Dewdrops And Dead Flies. And At Its Centre, Pondering Forever The Problem Of Existence, Sits Motionless The Spider-like And Uncanny Soul.

Self-respecting People Do Not Care To Peep At Their Reflections In Unexpected Mirrors, Or To See Themselves As Others See Them.

How It Infuriates A Bigot, When He Is Forced To Drag Out His Dark Convictions!

A Best-seller Is The Gilded Tomb Of A Mediocre Talent

Married Women Are Kept Women, And Theyare Beginning To Find It Out.