Slowly, Silently, Now The Moon Walks The

Very Old Are The Woods; And The Buds That Break Out Of The Brier's Boughs, When March Winds Wake, So Old With Their Beauty Are-- Oh, No Man Knows Through What Wild Centuries Roves Back The Rose.

After All, What Is Every Man? A Horde Of Ghosts - Like A Chinese Nest Of Boxes - Oaks That Were Acorns That Were Oaks. Death Lies Behind Us, Not In Front - In Our Ancestors, Back And Back Until.

All Day Long The Door Of The Sub-conscious Remains Just Ajar; We Slip Through To The Other Side, And Return Again, As Easily And Secretly As A Cat.

Lear, Macbeth. Mercutio – They Live On Their Own As It Were. The Newspapers Are Full Of Them, If We Were Only The Shakespeares To See It. Have You Ever Been In A Police Court? Have You Ever Watched Tradesmen Behind Their Counters? My Soul, The Secrets Walking In The Streets! You Jostle Them At Every Corner. There's A Polonius In Every First-class Railway Carriage, And As Many Juliets As There Are Boarding-schools. ... How Inexhaustibly Rich Everything Is, If You Only Stick To Life.

What Lovely Things Thy Hand Hath Made.