Our Books Approach Very Slowly

Solitude, The Safeguard Of Mediocrity, Is To Genius, The Stern Friend, The Cold, Obscure Shelter Where Moult The Wings Which Will Bear It Farther Than Suns And Stars.

Man Is Physical As Well As Metaphysical, A Thing Of Shreds And Patches, Borrowed Unequally From Good And Bad Ancestors, And A Misfit From The Start.

Some Men At The Approach Of A Dispute Neigh Like Horses. Unless There Be An Argument, They Think Nothing Is Doing. Some Talkers Excel In The Precision With Which They Formulate Their Thoughts, So That You Get From Them Somewhat To Remember; Others Lay Criticism Asleep By A Charm. Especially Women Use Words That Are Not Words,--as Steps In A Dance Are Not Steps,--but Reproduce The Genius Of That They Speak Of; As The Sound Of Some Bells Makes Us Think Of The Bell Merely, Whilst The Church Chimes In The Distance Bring The Church And Its Serious Memories Before Us.

I Will Not Hide My Tastes Or Aversions. I Will So Trust That What Is Deep Is Holy, That I Will Do Strongly Before The Sun And Moon Whatever Only Rejoices Me, And The Heart Appoints

Picture And Sculpture Are The Celebrations And Festivities Of Form.