I Could I Trust Starve

When Words Cease To Cling Close To Things, Kingdoms Fall, Empires Wane And Diminish.

What Matters Is Not The Idea A Man Holds, But The Depth At Which He Holds It.

From The Colour The Nature And By The Nature The Sign! Beatific Spirits Welding Together As In One Ash-tree In Ygdrasail.

As A Bathtub Lined With White Porcelain, When The Hot Water Gives Out Or Goes Tepid, So Is The Slow Cooling Of Our Chivalrous Passion, O My Much Praised But-not-altogether-satisfactory Lady.

The Secret Of Popular Writing Is Never To Put More On A Given Page Than The Common Reader Can Lap Off It With No Strain Whatsoever On His Habitually Slack Attention.