Death Has A Hundred Hands And Walks

To Make An End Is To Make A Beginning.

Art Never Improves, But... The Material Of Art Is Never Quite The Same.

People To Whom Nothing Has Ever Happened Cannot Understand The Unimportance Of Events.

The Single Rose Is Now The Garden Where All Loves End

I Journeyed To London, To The Timekept City, Where The River Flows, With Foreign Flotations. There I Was Told: We Have Too Many Churches, And Too Few Chop-houses.