With Stammering Lips And Insufficient Sound I

And Marlowe, Webster, Fletcher, Ben, Whose Fire-hearts Sowed Our Furrows When The World Was Worthy Of Such Men.

Many A Fervid Man Writes Books As Cold And Flat As Graveyard Stones.

The Man, Most Man, Works Best For Men, And, If Most Men Indeed, He Gets His Manhood Plainest From His Soul: While, Obviously, This Stringent Soul Itself Obeys Our Old Rules Of Development; The Spirit Ever Witnessing In Ours, And Love, The Soul Of Soul, Within The Soul, Evolving It Sublimely.

Books Are Men Of Higher Stature, And The Only Men That Speak Aloud For Future Times To Hear.

Like To Write? Of Course, Of Course I Do. I Seem To Live While I Write - It Is Life, For Me.