The victor belongs to the spoils.

The wise and tragic sense of life. By this I mean . . . the sense that life is essentially a cheat and its conditions are those of defeat, and that the redeeming things are not “happiness and pleasure” but the deeper satisfactions that come out of struggle.

Then he kissed her. At his lips’ touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete.

Then wear the gold hat, if that will move her;