Ah, Lady, When I Gave My Heart

There Is No Refuge From Memory And Remorse In This World. The Spirits Of Our Foolish Deeds Haunt Us, With Or Without Repentance.

When A Child Is Born The Mother Also Is Born Again.

Imagination Is At The Root Of Much That Passes For Love.

The Music Throbbed In A Voice Of Singular And Delicate Power; The Air Was Resonant With Melody, Love And Pain. The Meanest Italian In The Gallery Far Up Beneath The Ceiling, The Most Exalted Of The Land In The Boxes And The Stalls, Leaned Indulgently Forward, To Be Swept By This Sweet Storm Of Song.

It's The People Who Try To Be Clever Who Never Are; The People Who Are Clever Never Think Of Trying To Be.