Fashion Seems To Exist For An Abstract

First Love, With Its Frantic Haughty Imagination, Swings Its Object Clear Of The Everyday, Over The Rut Of Living, Making Him All Looks, Silences, Gestures, Attitudes, A Burning Phrase With No Context.

Nobody Speaks The Truth When There's Something They Must Have.

... In General, The Anglo-irish Do Not Make Good Dancers; They Are Too Spritely And Conscious; They Are Incapable Of One Kind Of Trance Or Of Being Seemingly Impersonal. And, For The Formal, Pure Dance They Lack The Formality: About Their Stylishness (for They Have Stylishness) There Is Something Impromptu, Slightly Disorderly.

One Should Discuss One's Difficulties Only When They Are Over.

Sins Cut Boldly Up Through Every Class In Society, But Mere Misdemeanours Show A Certain Level In Life.