Oh, Princes Thrive On Caviar, The Poor

Seventy Is Wormwood, Seventy Is Gall But Its Better To Be Seventy, Than Not Alive At All.

The East Is A Montage. It Is Old And It Is Young, Very Green In Summer, Very White In Winter, Gregarious, Withdrawn And At Once Both Sophisticated And Provincial.

Kindness Is A Virtue Neither Modern Nor Urban. One Almost Unlearns It In A City. Towns Have Their Own Beatitude; They Are Not Unfriendly; They Offer A Vast And Solacing Anonymity Or An Equally Vast And Solacing Gregariousness. But One Needs A Neighbor On Whom To Practice Compassion.

For Little Boys Are Rancorous When Robbed Of Any Myth, And Spiteful And Cantankerous To All Their Kin And Kith. But Little Girls Can Draw Conclusions And Profit From Their Lost Illusions.

Mere Wealth, I Am Above It, / It Is The Reputation Wide, / The Playwright's Pomp, The Poet's Pride / That Eagerly I Covet.