Time is the substance from which I am made. Time is a river which carries me along, but I am the river it is a tiger that devours me, but I am the tiger it is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire. – Jorge Luis Borges
[H]er figure might be described by a poet as just set in the luxurious mould of womanhood. – “Diary of a Surgeon,” in The Library of Fiction, or Family Story-Teller; consist
The maker of a sentence launches out into the infinite and builds a road into Chaos and old Night, and is followed by those who hear him with something of wild, creative delight. – Ralph Waldo Emerson