For One Thing, I Know Every Book

Honest Winter, Snow Clad And With The Frosted Beard, I Can Welcome Not Uncordially; But That Long Deferment Of The Calendar's Promise, That Weeping Loom Of March And April, That Bitter Blast Outraging The Honor Of May - How Often Has It Robbed Me Of Heart And Hope.

I Have The Happiness Of A Passing Moment, And What More Can Mortal Ask?

Life Is A Huge Farce, And The Advantage Of Possessing A Sense Of Humour Is That It Enables One To Defy Fate With Mocking Laughter.

To Every Man It Is Decreed: Thou Shalt Live Alone. Happy They Who Imagine That They Have Escaped The Common Lot; Happy, Whilst They Imagine It.

This Writer, Who Is Horribly Perspicacious And Vigorous, Demonstrates The Certainty Of A Great European War, And Regards It With The Peculiar Satisfaction Excited By Such Things In A Certain Order Of Mind. His Phrases About "dire Calamity" And So On Mean Nothing; The Whole Tenor Of His Writing Proves That He Represents, And Consciously, One Of The Forces Which Go To Bring War About; His Part In The Business Is A Fluent Irresponsibility, Which Casts Scorn On All Who Reluct At The "inevitable." Persistent Prophecy Is A Familiar Way Of Assuring The Event.