It Is Not I Who Die, When

The Superstition In Which We Were Brought Up Never Loses Its Power Over Us, Even After We Understand It.

Would That We Could At Once Paint With The Eyes! In The Long Way From The Eye Through The Arm To The Pencil, How Much Is Lost!

Yesterday I Lived, Today I Suffer, Tomorrow I Die; But I Still Think Fondly, Today And Tomorrow, Of Yesterday.

The Gift Of Prayer Is Not Always At Our Command.

Nature Meant Woman To Be Her Masterpiece.