Imagination though it cannot wipe out the sting of remorse can instruct the mind in its proper uses.
The beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Houses - the dark side silhouetted on flashes of moonlight!
The perfect type of the man of action is the suicide.
Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire that closes round me this year.
THESE are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night and the heart plunges lower than night.