You don't know yet what money is. Money is power, when you have lived as long as I have. I know, I know. If youth but knew. But what does Shakespeare say?
You ask me why I don’t love you, but surely you must believe I am very fond of you and if to desire to possess a person wholly, to admire and honour that person deeply, and to seek to secure that pers...
The phrase and the day and the scene harmonized in a chord. Words. Was it their colours? He allowed them to glow and fade, hue after hue: sunrise gold, the russet and green of apple orchards, azure of...
She respected her husband in the same way as she respected the General Post Office, as something large, secure and fixed: and though she knew the small number of his talents she appreciated his abstra...
Let my country die for me.
A man of genius makes no mistakes his errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.
You find my words dark. Darkness is in our souls, do you not think?
Perhaps it was an old flame he was in mourning for from the days beyond recall. She thought she understood. She would try to understand him because men were so different. The old love was waiting, wai...
No one would think he'd make such a beautiful corpse.
Let us leave theories there and return to here's hear.
The present is the now the here through which all future plunges to the past.
What is the age of the soul of man? As she hath the virtue of the chameleon to change her hue at every new approach, to be gay with the merry and mournful with the downcast, so too is her age changeab...
The intellectual imagination! With me all or not at all. NON SERVIAM!
If you can put your five fingers throught it, it is a gate, if not a door.
This race and this country and this life produced me, he said. I shall express myself as I am.
I think of you so often you have no idea.
Her lips touched his brain as they touched his lips, as though they were a vehicle of some vague speech and between them he felt an unknown and timid preasure, darker than the swoon of sin, softer tha...
Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world a mother's love is not.
Pity is the feeling which arrests the mind in the presence of whatesoever is grave and constant in human sufferings and unites it with the human sufferer.
Therefore, everyman, look to that last end that is thy death and the dust that gripeth on every man that is born of woman for as he came naked forth from his mother's womb so naked shall he wend him a...