The Great End Of Being Is To

We Expect More Of Ourselves Than We Have Any Right To.

War? War Is An Organized Bore.

There Is A Little Plant Called Reverence In The Corner Of My Soul's Garden, Which I Love To Have Watered Once A Week.

It Is Perfectly Easy To Be Original By Violating The Laws Of Decency And The Canons Of Good Taste.

The Wind Blows Out, The Bubble Dies; The Spring Entomb'd In Autumn Lies; The Dew Dries Up; The Star Is Shot; The Flight Is Past, And Man Forgot.