Perhaps this very instant is your time.

True revolutions in art restore more than they destroy.

O remember In your narrowing dark hours That more things move Than blood in the heart.

It is through the acceptance of a variety of aethetic and intellectual points of view that a culture is given breadth and density.

I don't like quintessential certitude.

The measured blood beats out the year's delay.

But is there any reason to believe that a woman's spiritual fibre is less sturdy than a man's? Is it not possible for a woman to come to terms with herself if not with the world; to withdraw more and more, as time goes on, her own personality from her productions; to stop childish fears of death and eschew charming rebellions against facts?