My! Ain't Men Blinder'n Moles?

Don’t Ask A Writer What He’s Working On. It’s Like Asking Someone With Cancer On The Progress Of His Disease.

My! Ain't Men Blinder'n Moles?

A Man Must Be Sacrificed Now And Again To Provide For The Next Generation Of Men.

This Is War: Boys Flung Into A Breach Like Shoveled Earth; And Old Men, Broken, Driving Rapidly Before Crowds Of People In A Glitter Of Silly Decorations. Behind The Boys And The Old Men, Life Weeps, And Shreds Her Garments To The Blowing Winds.

I Should Like To Bring A Case To Trial: Prosperity Versus Beauty, Cash Registers Teetering In A Balance Against The Comfort Of The Soul.