I Wonder How Often Not

The Only Creative Power I Know Is That Of What Might Roughly Be Called 'love'; Not Of Course A Sentimental Love: A Far More Impersonal And Less Individual Emotion. I Sometimes Think That Migratory Birds May Have It For Each Other. They Fly In The Same Direction, And Have Never Been Seen To Interfere With Each Other's Flights.

We Do Good By Ourselves, But We Seldom Do Wrong Alone.

All Daughters, Even When Most Aggravated By Their Mothers, Have A Secret Respect For Them. They Believe Perhaps That They Can Do Everything Better Than Their Mothers Can, And Many Things They Can Do Better, But They Have Not Yet Lived Long Enough To Be Sure How Successfully They Will Meet The Major Emergencies Of Life, Which Lie, Sometimes Quite Creditably, Behind Their Mothers.

Love Comes Into Your Being Like A Tidal Wave ... Sometimes It Withdraws Like A Wave, Till There Isn't Such A Thing As A Pool Left, And Every Bit Of Your Heart Is As Dry As Seaweed Beyond The Wave's Reach.

This Is The Real Tragedy Of Mankind, That Until Now The Spirit Of Man Has Not Been Able To Free Itself, Even Along The Path Of Its Own Development, From The Tentacles Of Self-deception.