The Fact Is, Both Callers

I Used To Come From The Village With All That Dirt And Coarse Ugliness Like A Pain Within Me, And The Simpering Pictures In The Drawing-room Seemed To Me Like A Wicked Attempt To Find Delight In What Is False, While We Don't Mind How Hard The Truth Is For The Neighbors Outside Our Walls. I Think We Have No Right To Come Forward And Urge Wider Changes For Good, Until We Have Tried To Alter The Evils Which Lie Under Our Own Hands.

Men Outlive Their Love, But They Don’t Outlive The Consequences Of Their Recklessness.

Melodies Die Out, Like The Pipe Of Pan, With The Ears That Love Them And Listen For Them.

We Are All Of Us Imaginative In Some Form Or Other, For Images Are The Brood Of Desire.

Play Not With Paradoxes. That Caustic Which You Handle In Order To Scorch Others May Happen To Sear Your Own Fingers And Make Them Dead To The Quality Of Things.