It Is In The Nature Of Foolish

For Pain Must Enter Into Its Glorified Life Of Memory Before It Can Turn Into Compassion.

All Writing Seems To Me Worse In The State Of Proof Than In Any Other Form. In Manuscript One's Own Wisdom Is Rather Remarkable To One, But In Proof It Has The Effect Of One's Private Furniture Repeated In The Shop Windows. And Then There Is The Sense That The Worst Errors Will Go To Press Unnoticed!

The Nature O' Things Doesn't Change, Though It Seems As If One's Own Life Was Nothing But Change.

It Seems To Me We Can Never Give Up Longing And Wishing While We Are Thoroughly Alive. There Are Certain Things We Feel To Be Beautiful And Good, And We Must Hunger After Them.

I Desire No Future That Will Break The Ties Of The Past.