There are perhaps no days of our childhood we lived so fully as those >>
It is comforting when one has a sorrow to lie in the warmth of one's b >>
Life is extraordinarily suave and sweet with certain natural, witty, a >>
That the public can grow accustomed to any face is proved by the incre >>
The faces of most American women over thirty are relief maps of petula >>
Our masks, always in peril of smearing or cracking, in need of continu >>
The features of our face are hardly more than gestures which force of habit made permanent. Nature, like the destruction of Pompeii, like the metamorphosis of a nymph into a tree, has arrested us in an accustomed movement.