We Weep When We Are Born, Not

Civilization Is The Lamb's Skin In Which Barbarism Masquerades.

But I, In The Chilling Twilight Stand And Wait At The Portcullis, At Thy Castle Gate, Longing To See The Charmed Door Of Dreams Turn On Its Noiseless Hinges, Delicate Sleep!

The Walking Delegates Of A Higher Civilization, Who Have Nothing To Divide, Look Upon The Notion Of Property As A Purely Artificial Creation Of Human Society. According To These Advanced Philosophers, The Time Will Come When No Man Shall Be Allowed To Call Anything His. The Beneficent Law Which Takes Away An Author's Rights In His Own Books Just At The Period When Old Age Is Creeping Upon Him Seems To Me A Handsome Stride Toward The Longed-for Millennium.

What Is Lovely Never Dies, But Passes Into Other Loveliness, Star-dust, Or Sea-foam, Flower Or Winged Air.

The Thing One Reads And Likes, And Then Forgets, Is Of No Account. The Thing That Stays, And Haunts One, And Refuses To Be Forgotten, That Is The Sincere Thing.