They Ravaged Neither The Rivers Nor The

Personal Life Becomes Paler As The Imaginative Life Becomes Richer.

Even The Wicked Get Worse Than They Deserve.

Oh, That's The Beauty Of The Rose, That It Blossoms And Dies.

Freedom So Often Means That One Isn't Needed Anywhere.

There Is A Popular Superstition That "realism" Asserts Itself In The Cataloguing Of A Great Number Of Material Objects, In Explaining Mechanical Processes, The Methods Of Operating Manufactories And Trades, And In Minutely And Unsparingly Describing Physical Sensations. But Is Not Realism, More Than It Is Anything Else, An Attitude Of Mind On The Part Of The Writer Toward His Material, A Vague Indication Of The Sympathy And Candour With Which He Accepts, Rather Than Chooses, His Theme?