It Is Through The Cracks In Our

This Nice And Subtle Happiness Of Reading, This Joy Not Chilled By Age, This Polite And Unpunished Vice, This Selfish, Serene Life-long Intoxication.

All Reformers, However Strict Their Social Conscience, Live In Houses Just As Big As They Can Pay For.

An Echo Of Music, A Face In The Street, The Wafer Of The New Moon, A Wanton Thought - Only In The Iridescence Of Things The Vagabond Soul Is Happy.

There Are People Who, Like Houses, Are Beautiful In Dilapidation.

It Is The Wretchedness Of Being Rich That You Have To Live With Rich People.