My Religion Of Life Is Always To

Kissing Don't Last: Cookery Do!

A House With A Great Wine Stored Below Lives In Our Imagination As A Joyful House, Fast And Splendidly Rooted In The Soil.

Swift Doth Young Love Flee, And We Stand Wakened, Shivering From Our Dream.

Earth Knows No Desolation. She Smells Regeneration In The Moist Breath Of Decay.

George Eliot Has The Heart Of Sappho; But The Face, With The Long Proboscis, The Protruding Teeth Of The Apocalyptic Horse, Betrayed Animality.