History Does Not Repeat Itself. The Historians

It Seems To Be A Law Of Nature That No Man, Unless He Has Some Obvious Physical Deformity, Ever Is Loth To Sit For His Portrait.

The Hospitable Instinct Is Not Wholly Altruistic. There Is Pride And Egoism Mixed Up With It.

Of Course We All Know That Morris Was A Wonderful All-round Man, But The Act Of Walking Round Him Has Always Tired Me.

Not Philosophy, After All, Not Humanity, Just Sheer Joyous Power Of Song, Is The Primal Thing In Poetry.

For A Young Man, Sleep Is A Sure Solvent Of Distress. There Whirls Not For Him In The Night Any So Hideous Phantasmagoria As Will Not Become, In The Clarity Of The Next Morning, A Spruce Procession For Him To Lead. Brief The Vague Horror Of His Awakening; Memory Sweeps Back To Him, And He Sees Nothing Dreadful After All. "why Not?" Is The Sun's Bright Message To Him, And "why Not Indeed?" His Answer.