Was It For This The Clay Grew

The English Say, Yours Truly, And Mean It. The Italians Say, I Kiss Your Feet, And Mean, I Kick Your Head.

The Old Lie:dulce Et Decorum Est Pro Patria Mori.

When I Begin To Eliminate From The List All Those Professions Which Are Impossible From A Financial Point Of View And Then Those Which I Feel Disinclined To-it Leaves Nothing

I Find Purer Philosophy In A Poem Than In A Conclusion Of Geometry, A Chemical Analysis, Or A Physical Law

The Young Soldier It Is Not Death Without Hereafter To One In Dearth Of Life And Its Laughter, Nor The Sweet Murder Dealt Slow And Even Unto The Martyr Smiling At Heaven: It Is The Smile Faint As A (waning) Myth, Faint, And Exceeding Small On A Boy's Murdered Mouth.