That day I behaved like a good artist, one whose job is to build rather than break.
From one’s little noose
Yells and shouts
And grows stout
And the noose tightens
Leaving no way to creap out
Till at the end
I am also having my turn among all.
We are on a stroll, hand in hand, in a garden, in the moonlight and the sole purpose of such a venture is to come together in love.
Beauty is like the storm. Beauty has its natural motions. A calmness of spirit signals its arrival. Its departure is marked by misery.
God knows how many times we miss nice things near at hand!
If they had given in to passion, throwing caution to the wind,they would have lost everything.
If we put aside the practicality, we may find our wishes to be very innocent.
I shout at him to remind him of his duties. That does not mean that I do not trust him at all.
School children, who have enjoyed reading a romance or a detective thriller or a novel about terror and conquest, make the invariable mistake of studying literature in the college. They make the mistake of learning theory in place of art; they acquire impediments in their own enjoyment of the books by allowing a set of theories to govern their own reading.
What common people call beauty is essentially nature. The moment nature abandons you, your beauty is lost forever.