The mind I love must have wild places, a tangled orchard where dark damsons drop in the heavy grass, an overgrown little wood, the chance of a snake or two, a pool that nobody’s fathomed the depth of, and paths threaded with flowers planted by the mind. – Katherine Mansfield
Some minds are made of blotting-paper: you can write nothing on them distinctly. They swallow the ink, and you find a large spot. – Augustus William Hare and Julius Charles Hare, Guesses at Truth, by Two Brothers
