It Seems To Me You Do Not

There's No Friends Like The Old Friends.

O, Dread And Dire Word. Eternity! What Mind Of Man Can Understand It?

I Am Damnably Sick Of Italy, Italian And Italians, Outrageously, Illogically Sick.... I Hate To Think That Italians Ever Did Anything In The Way Of Art.... What Did They Do But Illustrate A Page Or So Of The New Testament! They Themselves Think They Have A Monopoly In The Line. I Am Dead Tired Of Their Bello And Bellezza.

It Is As Painful Perhaps To Be Awakened From A Vision As To Be Born.

Hold To The Now, The Here, Through Which All Future Plunges To The Past.