Saw Life Steadily And Saw It Whole.

Say, Has Some Wet Bird-haunted English Lawn Lent It The Music Of Its Trees At Dawn?

Sanity -- That Is The Great Virtue Of The Ancient Literature; The Want Of That Is The Great Defect Of The Modern, In Spite Of Its Variety And Power.

Journalism Is Literature In A Hurry.

All This I Bear, For, What I Seek, I Know: Peace, Peace Is What I Seek, And Public Calm: Endless Extinction Of Unhappy Hates.

Know, Man Hath All Which Nature Hath, But More, And In That More Lie All His Hopes Of Good.