Half A Calamity Is Better Than A

Suppose We Were (as We Might Be) An Influence, An Idea, A Thing Intangible, Invulnerable, Without Front Or Back, Drifting About Like A Gas? Armies Were Like Plants, Immobile, Firm-rooted, Nourished Through Long Stems To The Head. We Might Be A Vapour, Blowing Where We Listed Ours Should Be A War Of Detachment. We Were To Contain The Enemy By The Silent Threat Of A Vast, Unknown Desert

Immorality, I Know. Immortality, I Cannot Judge.

He Feared His Maturity As It Grew Upon Him With Its Ripe Thought, Its Skill, Its Finished Art; Yet Which Lacked The Poetry Of Boyhood To Make Living A Full End Of Life.

The Literature Of Disease Is More Interesting To Me Than All The Healthy Books.

I Haven't Got A Heart: Only The Former Site Of One, With A Monument There To Say That It Has Been Removed And The Area It Occupied Turned Into A Public Garden, In Pursuance Of The Slum-clearance Scheme.