If I really seem vain, it is that I am only vain in my ways — not in my heart. The worst women are those vain in their hearts, and not in their ways. - Thomas Hardy

Here by the baring bough Raking up leaves, Often I ponder how Springtime deceives,— I, an old woman now, Raking up leaves.

It often happens that in situations of unrestraint, where there is no thought of the eye of criticism, real feeling glides into a mode of manifestation not easily distinguishable from rodomontade. A veneer of affectation overlies a bulk of truth, with the evil consequence, if perceived, that the substance is estimated by the superficies, and the whole rejected.

But his dreams were as gigantic as his surroundings were small.