An Ugly Woman, Married To

A Husband And Wife Who Have Separate Bedrooms Have Either Drifted Apart Or Found Happiness.

The Press Is Like A Woman: Sublime When It Lies, It Will Not Let Go Until It Has Forced You To Believe It. The Public, Like A Foolish Husband, Always Succumbs.

It Is Not Hope But Despair That Gives Us The Measure Of Our Ambitions. We May Yield Secretly To Beautiful Poems Of Hope But Grief Looms Start And Stripped Of All Veils.

Art's Greatest Efforts Are Invariably A Timid Counterfeit Of Nature.

Finance, Like Time, Devours Its Own Children.