It Were Better To Be A Soldier's

That Was Indeed To Live -- At One Bold Swoop To Wrest From Darkling Death The Best That Death To Life Can Give.

The Man Who Suspects His Own Tediousness Is Yet To Be Born.

Shakespeare Is Forever Coming Into Our Affairs -- Putting In His Oar, So To Speak -- With Some Pat Word Or Sentence.

We Knew It Would Rain, For The Poplars Showed The White Of Their Leaves, The Amber Grain Shrunk In The Wind,-and The Lightning Now Is Tangled In Tremulous Skeins Of Rain.

Between The Reputation Of The Author Living And The Reputation Of The Same Author Dead There Is Ever A Wide Discrepancy.