The Sea Drives Truth Into A Man

For No One, In Our Long Decline, So Dusty, Spiteful And Divided, Had Quite Such Pleasant Friends As Mine, Or Loved Them Half As Much As I Did.

It Seems To Be Saying Perpetually; 'i Am The End Of The Nineteenth Century; I Am Glad They Built Me Of Iron; Let Me Rust.' ... It Is Like A Passing Fool In A Crowd Of The University, A Buffoon In The Hall; For All The Things In Paris Has Made, It Alone Has Neither Wits Nor Soul.

You Are My Cat, And I Am Your Human.

I Said To Heart, "how Goes It?" Heart Replied: "right As A Ribstone Pippin!" But It Lied.

Be Content To Remember That Those Who Can Make Omelettes Properly Can Do Nothing Else.