Youth is cause, effect is age; so with the thickening of the neck we get data.

Destiny and history are untidy.

The truth is how you say it, and to be 'one's self' is the most shocking custom of all.

The heart of the jealous knows the best and most satisfying love, that of the other's bed, where the rival perfects the lover's imperfections.

We are but skin about a wind, with muscles clenched against mortality.

When autumn shadows throw their patterns across the land, they are not the images of fragile, dying leaves, not the bared arms of lofty elms, not shadows of a fading summer; but swinging shapes as of books upon a strap, of round and square boxes held under an arm, of hurrying little people heading towards the nearest school.

Yes, we who are full to the gorge with misery should look well around, doubting everything seen, done, spoken, precisely because we have a word for it, and not its alchemy