He Might Wish And Wish And Never

I Am Still Under The Impression That There Is Nothing Alive Quite So Beautiful As A Thoroughbred Horse.

Only Love Makes Fruitful The Soul.

Beauty Means This To One Person, Perhaps, And That To The Other. And Yet When Any One Of Us Has Seen Or Heard Or Read That Which To Us Is Beautiful, We Have Known An Emotion Which Is In Every Case The Same In Kind, If Not In Degree; An Emotion Precious And Uplifting.

It Was Such A Spring Day As Breathes Into A Man An Ineffable Yearning, A Painful Sweetness, A Longing That Makes Him Stand Motionless, Looking At The Leaves Or Grass, And Fling Out His Arms To Embrace He Knows Not What.

A Man Is The Sum Of His Actions, Of What He Has Done, Of What He Can Do, Nothing Else.