The Suitable Is The Last Thing We

It Was A Perfect Spring Afternoon, And The Air Was Filled With Vague, Roving Scents, As If The Earth Exhaled The Sweetness Of Hidden Flowers.

It Seems To Me That This Is The True Test For Poetry: - That It Should Go Beneath Experience, As Prose Can Never Do, And Awaken An Apprehension Of Things We Have Never, And Can Never, Know In The Actuality.

No Idea Is So Antiquitated That It Was Not Once Modern. No Idea Is So Modern That It Will Not Some Day Be Antiquitated . . . To Seize The Flying Thought Before It Escapes Us Is Our Only Touch With Reality.

It Is Difficult To Deal Successfully, He Decided, With A Woman Whose Feelings Cannot Be Hurt.

...i Had Grown Up In A World That Was Dominated By Immature Age. Not By Vigorous Immaturity, But By Immaturity That Was Old And Tired And Prudent, That Loved Ritual And Rubric, And Was Utterly Wanting In Curiosity About The New And The Strange. Its Era Has Passed Away, And The World It Made Has Crumbled Around Us. Its Finest Creation, A Code Of Manners, Has Been Ridiculed And Discarded.