Makes Of Men Date, Like Makes Of

I Know That I Have In My Make-up Layers Of Synthetic Experiences, And That The Most Powerful Of My Memories Are Only Half True.

Nothing Arrives On Paper As It Started, And So Much Arrives That Never Started At All. To Write Is Always To Rave A Little-even If One Did Once Know What One Meant

Whenever Possible I Avoid Talking. Reprieve From Talking Is My Idea Of A Holiday. At Risk Of Seeming Unsociable, Which I Am, I Admit I Love To Be Left In A Beatific Trance, When I Am In One. Friendly Romans Recognize That Wish.

It Is Not Our Exalted Feelings, It Is Our Sentiments That Build The Necessary Home.

No, It Is Not Only Our Fate But Our Business To Lose Innocence, And Once We Have Lost That, It Is Futile To Attempt A Picnic In Eden.