The cat is a dilettante in fur.
Who can believe that there is no soul behind those luminous eyes!
Sooner barbarity than boredom.
Sometimes he sits at your feet looking into your face with an expression so gentle and caressing that the depth of his gaze startles you.
You do not become a critic until it has been completely established to your own satisfaction that you cannot be a poet.
Modesty was made for the ugly.