The Writer Of Prose Can Only Step

If A Man Hasn't What's Necessary To Make A Woman Love Him, It's His Fault, Not Hers.

The Tragedy Of Love Is Indifference.

I'm Not Only My Spirit Buy My Body, And Who Can Decide How Much I, My Individual Self, Am Conditioned By The Accident Of My Body? Would Byron Have Been Byron But For His Club Foot, Or Dostoyevsky Dostoyevsky Without His Epilepsy?

Of All These The Richest In Beauty Is The Beautiful Life. That Is The Perfect Work Of Art. ~waddington

It Does The Heart Good To Look At You.