The past could always be annihilated. Regret, denial, or forgetfulness could do that. But the future was inevitable.

And her sweet red lips on these lips of mine Burned like the ruby fire set In the swinging lamp of a crimson shrine, Or the bleeding wounds of the pomegranate, Or the heart of the lotus drenched and wet With the spilt-out blood of the rose-red wine.

When people talk to me about the weather, I always feel they mean something else.

Bunbury? Oh, he was quite exploded. Exploded! Was he the victim of a revolutionary outrage? I was not aware that Mr. Bunbury was interested in social legislation. If so, he is well punished for his morbidity. My dear Aunt Augusta, I mean he was found out! The doctors found out that Bunbury could not , that is what I mean—so Bunbury died. He seems to have had great confidence in the opinion of his physicians.

All sins, except a sin against itself, Love should forgive. All lives, save loveless lives, true Love should pardon.

The typewriting machine, when played with expression, is no more annoying than the piano when played by a sister or near relation.

It seems to me that we all look at Nature too much, and live with her too little.