The Great Man Is The Man Who

Seated In My Library At Night, And Looking On The Silent Faces Of My Books, I Am Occasionally Visited By A Strange Sense Of The Supernatural.

I Would Rather Be Remembered By A Song Than By A Victory.

A Man Gazing At The Stars Is Proverbially At The Mercy Of The Puddles In The Road.

And In Any Case, To The Old Man, When The World Becomes Trite, The Triteness Arises Not So Much From A Cessation As From A Transference Of Interest. What Is Taken From This World Is Given To The Next. The Glory Is In The East In The Morning, It Is In The West In The Afternoon, And When It Is Dark The Splendour Is Irradiating The Realm Of The Under-world. He Would Only Follow.

Death Is The Ugly Fact Which Nature Has To Hide, And She Hides It Well.