When Two Men In Business Always Agree,

The Man Who Fears War And Squats Opposing My Words For Stour, Hath No Blood Of Crimson But Is Fit Only To Rot In Womanish Peace

I Would Hold The Rosy, Slender Fingers Of The Dawn For You.

There Are Few Things More Difficult Than To Appraise The Work Of A Man Suddenly Dead In His Youth; To Disentangle Promise From Achievement; To Save Him From That Sentimentalizing Which Confuses The Tragedy Of The Interruption With The Merit Of The Work Actually Performed.

It Is Difficult To Write A Paradiso When All The Superficial Indications Are That You Ought To Write An Apocalypse.

What Matters Is Not The Idea A Man Holds, But The Depth At Which He Holds It.