How Beautiful Maleness Is, If It Finds

Do Come Back And Draw The Ferrets, They Are The Most Lovely Noble Darlings In The World.

The Glamour Of Childish Days Is Upon Me, My Manhood Is Cast Down In The Flood Of Remembrance.

Not That The Red Indian Will Ever Possess The Broad Lands Of America. At Least I Presume Not. But His Ghost Will.

Sex Is The Root Of Which Intuition Is The Foliage And Beauty Is The Flower.

The Brangwens Had Lived For Generations On The Marsh Farm, In The Meadows Where The Erewash Twisted Sluggishly Through Alder Trees, Separating Derbyshire From Nottinghamshire.