I Drink The Wine Of Aspiration And

From Behind A Wooden Crate We Saw A Long Black-muzzled Nose Poking Round At Us. We Took Him Out-soft, Wobbly, Tearful; Set Him Down On His Four, As Yet Not Quite Simultaneous Legs, And Regarded Him. He Wandered A Little Round Our Legs, Neither Wagging His Tail Nor Licking At Our Hands; Then He Looked Up, And My Companion Said: "he's An Angel!"

Love! Beyond Measure — Beyond Death — It Nearly Kills. But One Wouldn't Have Been Without It.

The Law Is What It Is-a Majestic Edifice, Sheltering All Of Us, Each Stone Of Which Rests On Another.

The Beginnings And Endings Of All Human Undertakings Are Untidy.

The Forsytes Were Resentful Of Something, Not Individually, But As A Family; This Resentment Expressed Itself In An Added Perfection Of Raiment, An Exuberance Of Family Cordiality, An Exaggeration Of Family Importance, And The Sniff. Danger So Indispensable In Bringing Out The Fundamental Quality Of Any Society, Group, Or Individual Was What The Forsytes Scented; The Premonition Of Danger Put A Burnish On Their Armour. For The First Time, As A Family, They Appeared To Have An Instinct Of Being In Contact, With Some Strange And Unsafe Thing.