Is it a fact-or have I dreamt it-that, by means of electricity, the world of matter has become a great nerve, vibrating thousands of miles in a breathless point of time?

Let men tremble to win the hand of woman, unless they win along with it the utmost passion of her heart!

The sorrow that lay cold in her mother's heart... converted it into a tomb.

One picture in ten thousand, perhaps, ought to live in the applause of mankind, from generation to generation until the colors fade and blacken out of sight or the canvas rot entirely away.

Technologies of easy travel give us wings; they annihilate the toil and dust of pilgrimage; they spiritualize travel! Transition being so facile, what can be any man's inducement to tarry in one spot?

In this republican country, amid the fluctuating waves of our social life, somebody is always at the drowning-point.

But this had been a sin of passion, not of principle, nor even purpose.