Be Slow To Judge For We Know

These Are The Four That Are Never Content: That Have Never Been Filled Since The Dew Began- Jacala's Mouth, And The Glut Of The Kite, And The Hands Of The Ape, And The Eyes Of Man.

All The People Like Us Are We, And Everyone Else Is They.

Literature Is A Splendid Mistress, But A Bad Wife.

At Two O'clock In The Morning, If You Open Your Window And Listen, You Will Hear The Feet Of The Wind That Is Going To Call The Sun. And The Trees In The Shadow Rustle And The Trees In The Moonlight Glisten, And Though It Is Deep, Dark Night, You Feel That The Night Is Done.

Good Lord! Who Can Account For The Fathomless Folly Of The Public?