It is a sad truth$$$ but we have lost the faculty of giving lovely names to things.

The simplicity of your character makes you exquisitely incomprehensible to me.

We live in an age that reads too much to be wise$$$ and that thinks too much to be beautiful.

Experience is a question of instinct about life.

I never saw anybody take so long to dress$$$ and with such little result.

My wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death. One or the other of us has to go.

I don't write this letter to put bitterness into your heart$$$ but to pluck it out of mine. For my own sake I must forgive you.

For he who lives more lives than one more deaths than one must die.

But youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.

All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling. To be natural is to be obvious$$$ and to be obvious is to be inartistic.