Date: 1911

"As for Mr. Woodhouse, whose most famous sentences hang like texts in frames on the four walls of our memories, he is, next to Don Quixote, perhaps the most perfect gentleman in fiction; and under outrageous provocation he remains so."

— Bradley, A.C. (1851-1935)

Date: 1912

"Famous garden where the passion, / Bursting first disclosed the morn / Whose effulgent, beaming glory / Cleft old Chaos, brain and spine; / Lit up incense burning shrine, / In the heart of man for Eve."

— Beadle, Samuel Alfred (1857-1932)

Date: 1912

"Could we deftly lift the curtain / Which the cunning serpent draws, / Like the veil of night about us, / We would find that paradise, / Like a flower in winter, lies / 'Neath the stubbles of our souls."

— Beadle, Samuel Alfred (1857-1932)

Date: 1912

"Who does not harbor in his breast / The fruitage of forbidden things / Culled from beauty's lips and heart, / And folded in between the leaves / Of memory's roll of reveries."

— Beadle, Samuel Alfred (1857-1932)

Date: 1912

"He sat very stiff for a while in deep but meaningless thought. His mind felt like a feather -- a puff of smoke -- drifting dust. An impish wind was blowing it, and would not allow it to settle."

— William Goodridge Roberts (1877-1953)

Date: 1913

"But there was a twist in his brain which made his pictures of real life appear like scenes looked at through flawed glass."

— Gosse, Edmund (1849-1928)

Date: 1914

"He gave me the impression that he was repeating something which he had learned by heart or that, magnetised by some words of his own speech, his mind was slowly circling round and round in the same orbit"

— Joyce, James (1882-1941)

Date: 1914

"A light began to tremble on the horizon of his mind."

— Joyce, James (1882-1941)

Date: 1914

"While her tongue rambled on Gabriel tried to banish from his mind all memory of the unpleasant incident with Miss Ivors."

— Joyce, James (1882-1941)

Date: 1914

"A dull anger began to gather again at the back of his mind and the dull fires of his lust began to glow angrily in his veins."

— Joyce, James (1882-1941)