Don't you go believing in sayings, Picotee: they are all made by men, >>
That man's silence is wonderful to listen to. >>
If all hearts were open and all desires known -- as they would be if p >>
The eyes those silent tongues of love. >>
A blank helpless sort of face, rather like a rose just before you dren >>
A face is too slight a foundation for happiness. >>
I am the family face; flesh perishes, I live on, projecting trait and trace through time to times anon, and leaping from place to place over oblivion.