You Evidently Feel That Brevity Is The

There Was Something Alike Terrifying And Piteous In The Spectacle Of These Frail Old Morsels Of Humanity Consecrating Their Last Flickering Energies To The Task Of Making Each Other Wretched. Hatred Seemed To Be The One Faculty Which Had Survived In Undiminished Vigor Where All Else Was Dropping Into Ordered And Symmetrical Decay.

And The Vagueness Of His Alarm Added To Its Terrors; When Once You Have Taken The Impossible Into Your Calculations Its Possibilities Become Practically Limitless.

There Is No Easy In The World Neither Hard Everything Is The Same In A Way.

He Seems The Incarnation Of Everything Soft And Silky And Velvety, Without A Sharp Edge In His Composition, A Dreamer Whose Philosophy Is Sleep And Let Sleep.

I Am Not Collecting Copies Of The Cheaper Editions Of Omar Khayyám. I Gave The Last Four That I Received To The Lift-boy, And I Like To Think Of Him Reading Them, With Fitzgerald's Notes, To His Aged Mother. Lift-boys Always Have Aged Mothers; Shows Such Nice Feeling On Their Part, I Think.