Emotion Is Always New.

Our Acts Make Or Mar Us, We Are The Children Of Our Own Deeds.

I Don't Mind What Congress Does, As Long As They Don't Do It In The Streets And Frighten The Horses.

Art Needs No Spur Beyond Itself.

He Had, They Said, Tasted In Succession All The Apples Of The Tree Of Knowledge, And, Whether From Hunger Or Disgust, Had Ended By Tasting The Forbidden Fruit.

The Women Laughed And Wept; The Crowd Stamped Their Feet Enthusiastically, For At That Moment Quasimodo Was Really Beautiful. He Was Handsome — This Orphan, This Foundling, This Outcast.