Until I Have Been Able To Bury

We Must Live By The Light Of Our Own Self-satisfaction, Through That Secret Vital Busy Inwardness Which Is Even More Remarkable Than Our Reason.

Those Who Hope, By Retiring From The World, To Earn A Holiday From Human Frailty, In Themselves And Others, Are Usually Disappointed.

Nothing Is More Beautifully And Acceptably Self-assertive Than Good Singing.

The Human Soul Is Not Framed For Continued Proximity, And The Result Of This Enforced Neighbourhood Is Often An Appalling Loneliness For Which The Rules Of The Game Forbid Assuagement.

Our Actions Are Like Ships Which We May Watch Set Out To Sea, And Not Know When Or With What Cargo They Will Return To Port.