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“To project ones soul into some gracious form, and let it tarry there for a moment; to hear ones own intellectual views echoed back to one with all the added music of passion and youth; to convey one's temperament into anymore as thus it were a subtle fluid or a strange perfume: there was a real joy in that” — Oscar Wilde
To project ones soul into some gracious form, and let it tarry there for a moment; to hear ones own intellectual views echoed back to one with all the added music of passion and youth; to convey one's temperament into anymore as thus it were a subtle fluid or a strange perfume: there was a real joy in that