There is at least this to be said for mind, that it can dispel mind.
To what will love not stoop!
There's no lack of void.
Enough of acting the infant who has been told so often how he was found under a cabbage that in the end he remembers the exact spot in the garden and the kind of life he led there before joining the family circle.
The bicycle is a great good. But it can turn nasty, if ill employed.
Imagination at wit's end spreads its sad wings.