The Horrid Mystery Hanging Over Us In

Your Tears Come Easy, When You're Young, And Beginning The World. Your Tears Come Easy, When You're Old, And Leaving It. I Burst Out Crying.

The Books - The Generous Friends Who Met Me Without Suspicion - The Merciful Masters Who Never Used Me Ill!

Is There Any Wilderness Of Sand In The Deserts Of Arabia, Is There Any Prospect Of Desolation Among The Ruins Of Palestine, Which Can Rival The Repelling Effect On The Eye, And The Depressing Influence On The Mind, Of An English Country Town In The First Stage Of Its Existence, And In The Transition State Of Its Prosperity?

The Woman Who First Gives Life, Light, And Form To Our Shadowy Conceptions Of Beauty, Fills A Void In Our Spiritual Nature That Has Remained Unknown To Us Till She Appeared. Sympathies That Lie Too Deep For Words, Too Deep Almost For Thoughts, Are Touched, At Such Times, By Other Charms Than Those Which The Senses Feel And Which The Resources Of Expression Can Realise. The Mystery Which Underlies The Beauty Of Women Is Never Raised Above The Reach Of All Expression Until It Has Claimed Kindred With The Deeper Mystery In Our Own Souls.

It Is One Of My Rules In Life, Never To Notice What I Don't Understand.