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He who goes against the fashion is himself its slave

Logan Pearsall Smith

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Logan Pearsall Smith
Age: 80 †
Born: 1865
Born: October 18
Died: 1946
Died: March 2
Author
Literary Critic
Writer
Millville
New Jersey
Lloyd Logan Pearsall Smith
Slave
Fashion
Goes

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The vitality of a new movement in Art must be gauged by the fury it arouses.
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An echo of music, a face in the street, the wafer of the new moon, a wanton thought - only in the iridescence of things the vagabond soul is happy.
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So, I never lose a sense of the whimsical and perilous charm of daily life, with its meetings and words and accidents.
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Our names are labels, plainly printed on the bottled essence of our past behavior.
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Don't tell friends their social faults they will cure the fault and never forgive you.
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An improper mind is a perpetual feast.
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There is more felicity on the far side of baldness than young men can possibly imagine.
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Give me a bed and a book and I am happy.
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This nice and subtle happiness of reading, this joy not chilled by age, this polite and unpunished vice, this selfish, serene life-long intoxication.
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There are few sorrows in which a good income is of no avail.
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Youth is the time for adventures of the body, but age for the triumphs of the mind.
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If we shake hands with icy fingers, it is because we have burnt them so horribly before.
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Fine writers should split hairs together, and sit side by side, like friendly apes, to pick the fleas from each others fur.
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You cannot be both fashionable and first-rate
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The ladies who try to keep their beauty are the ladies who lose it.
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How awful to reflect that what people say of us is true!
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What things there are to write, if one could only write them! My mind is full of gleaming thought gay moods and mysterious, moth-like meditations hover in my imagination, fanning their painted wings. But always the rarest, those streaked with azure and the deepest crimson, flutter away beyond my reach.
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Only among people who think no evil can Evil monstrously flourish.
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All our lives we are putting pennies — our most golden pennies — into penny-in-the-slot machines that are almost always empty.
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All mirrors are magical mirrors, and we never see our faces in them.
Logan Pearsall Smith