Fine art, poetry, that kind of thing, elevates a nation.
Death was not to be a leap: it was to be a long descent under thickening shadows.
My childhood was full of deep sorrows - colic, whooping-cough, dread of ghosts, hell, Satan, and a Deity in the sky who was angry when I ate too much plumcake.
Vague memories hang about the mind like cobwebs.
A perverted moral judgment belongs to the dogmatic system.
All meanings, we know, depend on the key of interpretation.