Sleep, that deplorable curtailment of the joy of life.

Her life-that was the only chance she had-the short season between two silences.

The truth is, I often like women. I like their unconventionality. I like their completeness. I like their anonymity.

Our friends - how distant, how mute, how seldom visited and little known. And I, too, am dim to my friends and unknown; a phantom, sometimes seen, often not. Life is a dream surely.

But what a little I can get down into my pen of what is so vivid to my eyes, and not only to my eyes; also to some nervous fibre, or fanlike membrane in my species.

Never let anybody guess that you have a mind of your own. Above all be pure

Like" and "like" and "like"--but what is the thing that lies beneath the semblance of the thing?