Few Persons Who Have Ever Sat For

Books Do Furnish A Room.

He Fell In Love With Himself At First Sight And It Is A Passion To Which He Has Always Remained Faithful. Selflove Seems So Often Unrequited.

Literature Illuminates Life Only For Those To Whom Books Are A Necessity.

[t]here Is No Greater Sign Of Innate Misery Than A Love Of Teasing.

Slowly, But Very Deliberately, The Brooding Edifice Of Seduction, Creaking And Incongruous, Came Into Being, A Vast Heath Robinson Mechanism, Dually Controlled By Them And Lumbering Gloomily Down Vistas Of Triteness. With A Sort Of Heavy-fisted Dexterity The Mutually Adapted Emotions Of Each Of Them Became Synchronized, Until The Unavoidable Anti-climax Was At Hand.