I, A Stranger And Afraid, In A

Great Literature Should Do Some Good To The Reader: Must Quicken His Perception Though Dull, And Sharpen His Discrimination Though Blunt, And Mellow The Rawness Of His Personal Opinions.

I Sought Them Far And Found Them, The Sure, The Straight, The Brave, The Hearts I Lost My Own To, The Souls I Could Not Save They Braced Their Belts About Them, They Crossed In Ships The Sea, They Sought And Found Six Feet Of Ground, And There They Died For Me.

All Knowledge Is Precious Whether Or Not It Serves The Slightest Human Use.

All Knots That Lovers Tie Are Tied To Sever. Here Shall Your Sweetheart Lie, Untrue For Ever.

On Occasions, After Drinking A Pint Of Beer At Luncheon, There Would Be A Flow Into My Mind With Sudden And Unaccountable Emotion, Sometimes A Line Or Two Of Verse, Sometimes A Whole Stanza, Accompanied, Not Preceded By A Vague Notion Of The Poem Which They Were Destined To Form A Part Of.... I Say Bubble Up Because, So Far As I Could Make Out, The Source Of The Suggestions Thus Proffered To The Brain Was The Pit Of The Stomach.