Love Is A Game In Which One

Constancy Will Always Be The Genius Of Love, The Indication Of That Strength Which Constitutes The Poet. A Man Should Possess All Women In His Wife, Like Those Squalid Poetasters Of The Seventeenth Century Who Made Fair Irises And Dazzling Chloes Of Their Lowly Manons.

Beauty Is The Greatest Of Human Powers. Any Power Without Counterbalance Or Control Becomes Autocratic And Leads To Abuse And To Folly. Despotism In A Government Is Insanity; In Woman, Fantasy.

Everybody All Over The World Takes A Wife's Estimate Into Account In Forming An Opinion Of A Man.

To Live In The Presence Of Great Truths And Eternal Laws, To Be Led By Permanent Ideals - That Is What Keeps A Man Patient When The World Ignores Him, And Calm And Unspoiled When The World Praises Him.

There Are Houses In Certain Provincial Towns Whose Aspect Inspires Melancholy, Akin To That Called Forth By Sombre Cloisters, Dreary Moorlands, Or The Desolation Of Ruins. Within These Houses There Is, Perhaps, The Silence Of The Cloister, The Barrenness Of Moors, The Skeleton Of Ruins; Life And Movement Are So Stagnant There That A Stranger Might Think Them Uninhabited, Were It Not That He Encounters Suddenly The Pale, Cold Glance Of A Motionless Person, Whose Half-monastic Face Peers Beyond The Window-casing At The Sound Of An Unaccustomed Step.