I Have Come Too Late Into A

Doubt, If You Will, The Being Who Loves You, Woman Or Dog, But Never Doubt Love Itself.

If Love Is A Play, This Play, As Old As The World, Fiasco Or Not, It Is, All In All, The Least Bad Thing That Has So Far Been Found. The Roles Are Trite, I Admit, But If The Play Had No Value The Whole Universe Wouldn’t Know It By Heart

Romanticism Is The Abuse Of Adjectives

As All The Perfumes Of The Vanished Dayrise From The Earth Still Moistened With The Dewso From My Chastened Soul Beneath Thy Rayold Love Is Born Anew.

The Soft Contralto Notes Of A Woman's Voice Are Born In The Immediate Region Of The Heart.