We shook hands—though I doubt if a mere fleshly contact can express much while the self behind it is dumb with instinctive distaste.

When we take a general view of the wonderful stream of our consciousness, what strikes us first is the different pace of its parts. Like a bird's life, it seems to made of an alternation of flights and perchings.

It schools the mind to watch for the legato all the time, as its absence at the organ is mor prominent than at the piano; but beyond this point it renders little assitance to the pianist.

She's a real freak in the bed.