I Intend To Judge Things For Myself;

His Kiss Was Like White Lightning, A Flash That Spread, And Spread Again, And Stayed.

She Had Always Been Fond Of History, And Here [in Rome] Was History In The Stones Of The Street And The Atoms Of The Sunshine.

It Had Been Agreed Between Them That Lighted Candles At Wayside Inns, In Strange Countries Amid Mountain Scenery, Gave The Evening Meal A Peculiar Poetry.

I Intend To Judge Things For Myself; To Judge Wrongly, I Think, Is More Honorable Than Not To Judge At All.

I Hold Any Writer Sufficiently Justified Who Is Himself In Love With His Theme.