For there is a virtue in truth; it has an almost mystic power. Like radium, it seems to give off forever and ever grains of energy, atoms of light.

Do not move, do not go. Sink within this moment. Hold it for ever.

Melancholy were the sounds on a winter's night.

A light here required a shadow there.

The poet is always our contemporary.

The intellect, divine as it is, and all worshipful, has a habit of lodging in the most seedy of carcasses, and often, alas, acts the cannibal among the other faculties so that often, where the Mind is biggest, the Heart, the Senses, Magnanimity, Charity, Tolerance, Kindliness, and the rest of them scarcely have room to breathe.

Whatever may be their use in civilized societies, mirrors are essential to all violent and heroic action.