We Must For Dear Life Make Our

If I Were To Live My Life Over Again, I Would Be An American. I Would Steep Myself In America, I Would Know No Other Land.

You Seemed To Me To Be Soaring Far Up In The Blue - To Be Sailing In The Bright Light, Over The Heads Of Men. Suddenly Some One Tosses Up A Faded Rosebud - A Missile That Should Never Have Reached You - And Down You Drop To The Ground.

The Right Time Is Any Time That One Is Still So Lucky As To Have.

Nothing, Of Course, Will Ever Take The Place Of The Good Old Fashion Of 'liking' A Work Of Art Or Not Liking It; The More Improved Criticism Will Not Abolish That Primitive, That Ultimate, Test.

It Had Been Agreed Between Them That Lighted Candles At Wayside Inns, In Strange Countries Amid Mountain Scenery, Gave The Evening Meal A Peculiar Poetry.