The Best Travel Is That Which One

Those Only Can Thoroughly Feel The Meaning Of Death Who Know What Is Perfect Love.

Most Of Us Who Turn To Any Subject We Love Remember Some Morning Or Evening Hour When We Got On A High Stool To Reach Down An Untried Volume, Or Sat With Parted Lips Listening To A New Talker, Or For Very Lack Of Books Began To Listen To The Voices Within, As The First Traceable Beginning Of Our Love.

Souls Live On In Perpetual Echoes.

It Is Painful To Be Told That Anything Is Very Fine And Not Be Able To Feel That It Is Fine--something Like Being Blind, While People Talk Of The Sky.

Knightly Love Is Blent With Reverence As Heavenly Air Is Blent With Heavenly Blue.