Summer — Summer — Summer! The Soundless

It Is An Age Of Stir And Change, A Season Of New Wine And Old Bottles. Yet, Assuredly, In Spite Of Breakages And Waste, A Wine Worth The Drinking Is All The Time Being Made.

Only Love Makes Fruitful The Soul. The Sense Of Form That Both Had In Such High Degree Prevented Much Demonstration; But To Be With Him, Do Things For Him, To Admire, And Credit Him With Perfection; And, Since She Could Not Exactly Wear The Same Clothes Or Speak In The Same Clipped, Quiet, Decisive Voice, To Dislike The Clothes And Voices Of Other Men - All This Was Precious To Her Beyond Everything.

Not The Least Hard Thing To Bear When They Go From Us, These Quiet Friends, Is That They Carry Away With Them So Many Years Of Our Own Lives.

Love Of Beauty Is Really Only The Sex Instinct, Which Nothing But Complete Union Satisfies.

Come! Let Us Lay A Lance In Rest, And Tilt At Windmills Under A Wild Sky! For Who Would Live So Petty And Unblest That Dare Not Tilt At Something Ere He Die; Rather Than, Screened By Safe Majority, Preserve His Little Life To Little End, And Never Raise A Rebel Cry!