It Is The Lava Of The Imagination

I Deny Nothing, But Doubt Everything.

The Reading Or Non-reading A Book Will Never Keep Down A Single Petticoat.

The Light Of Love, The Purity Of Grace, The Mind, The Music Breathing From Her Face, The Heart Whose Softness Harmonised The Whole — And, Oh! That Eye Was In Itself A Soul!

Good But Rarely Came From Good Advice.

Nor All That Heralds Rake From Coffin'd Clay, Nor Florid Prose, Nor Honied Lies Of Rhyme, Can Blazon Evil Deeds, Or Consecrate A Crime.