The Woman Who First Gives Life, Light,

Women Can Resist A Man's Love, A Man's Fame, A Man's Personal Appearance, And A Man's Money, But They Cannot Resist A Man's Tongue When He Knows How To Talk To Them.

I Have Noticed That The Christianity Of A Certain Class Of Respectable People Begins When They Open Their Prayer-books At Eleven O'clock On Sunday Morning, And Ends When They Shut Them Up Again At One O'clock On Sunday Afternoon. Nothing So Astonishes And Insults Christians Of This Sort As Reminding Them Of Their Christianity On A Week-day.

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.

We Had Our Breakfasts--whatever Happens In A House, Robbery Or Murder, It Doesn't Matter, You Must Have Your Breakfast.

The Dull People Decided Years And Years Ago, As Everyone Knows, That Novel-writing Was The Lowest Species Of Literary Exertion, And That Novel Reading Was A Dangerous Luxury And An Utter Waste Of Time.