The Word Snob Belongs To The Sour-grape

There Are People Who, Like Houses, Are Beautiful In Dilapidation.

Youth Is The Time For Adventures Of The Body, But Age For The Triumphs Of The Mind.

Thank Heavens, The Sun Has Gone In And I Don’t Have To Go Out And Enjoy It.

So, I Never Lose A Sense Of The Whimsical And Perilous Charm Of Daily Life, With Its Meetings And Words And Accidents.

What Shall I Compare It To, This Fantastic Thing I Call My Mind? To A Waste-paper Basket, To A Sieve Choked With Sediment, Or To A Barrel Full Of Floating Froth And Refuse? No, What It Is Really Most Like Is A Spider's Web, Insecurely Hung On Leaves And Twigs, Quivering In Every Wind, And Sprinkled With Dewdrops And Dead Flies. And At Its Centre, Pondering Forever The Problem Of Existence, Sits Motionless The Spider-like And Uncanny Soul.