It was the smile which runs before a promise.

It was the smile which runs before a promise.

He who steps on stones is glad to feel the smallest spray of moss beneath his feet.

There is no suffering like a child's, terrified by a secret which it dare not for some reason disclose.

There are two kinds of artists in this world; those that work because the spirit is in them, and they cannot be silent if they would, and those that speak from a conscientious desire to make apparent to others the beauty that has awakened their own admiration.

Do we fear suffering or apathy most? Is it from experience or the monotony of a commonplace existence that we quickest flee?

The finger of suspicion never forgets the way it has once pointed.