H. B. Marriott Watson

“ The splendour has faded from the fabric of our dream, from the world is gone the charm that once held us intent upon the nearest pleasure. It is not only that your body carries the marks of another year, but one might say a certain elasticity of the mind dies year by year with Nature. You will not resume your occupations comfortably to-night. Do you think there is not a tinge of sadness in your laughter over your favourite humourist? Has not your study an air of melancholy? Your pictures speak of the vanity of this passing life. ”

“ Of a truth you are a weary soul fighting for you know not whether good or evil. In your accustomed chair your thoughts flow inwards, and you see the tissue of desires and aims you call yourself. If you can find in this moment one worthy aspiration, one feeling other than of clay, then shall you find the night a little clearer, the year a little younger. But your poignant introspection will perceive the weariness and the folly and the vanity of being. Your soul is cold and clammy; you think it on the brink of death, and cry out upon the horror of your creation. ”

“ Unto Nature is revealed now her own impotence, and she must henceforth go with her hand to her heart; stricken with eld she must limp forward to her tomb. It is long months since we knew her young and debonair, when each of her movements was tremulous with vigour, vivid with significance. ”