Parks Are But Pavement Disguised With A

The Mind Which Renounces, Once And For Ever, A Futile Hope, Has Its Compensation In Ever-growing Calm.

For The Man Sound Of Body And Serene Of Mind There Is No Such Thing As Bad Weather; Every Day Has Its Beauty, And Storms Which Whip The Blood Do But Make It Pulse More Vigorously.

This Writer, Who Is Horribly Perspicacious And Vigorous, Demonstrates The Certainty Of A Great European War, And Regards It With The Peculiar Satisfaction Excited By Such Things In A Certain Order Of Mind. His Phrases About "dire Calamity" And So On Mean Nothing; The Whole Tenor Of His Writing Proves That He Represents, And Consciously, One Of The Forces Which Go To Bring War About; His Part In The Business Is A Fluent Irresponsibility, Which Casts Scorn On All Who Reluct At The "inevitable." Persistent Prophecy Is A Familiar Way Of Assuring The Event.

Life Is A Huge Farce, And The Advantage Of Possessing A Sense Of Humour Is That It Enables One To Defy Fate With Mocking Laughter.

Parks Are But Pavement Disguised With A Growth Of Grass.