There Are Heroisms All Round Us Waiting

Life Is Infinitely Stranger Than Anything Which The Mind Of Man Could Invent.

I Cannot Live Without Brainwork. What Else Is There To Live For? Stand At The Window Here. Was Ever Such A Dreary, Dismal, Unprofitable World? See How The Yellow Fog Swirls Down The Street And Drifts Across The Duncoloured Houses. What Could Be More Hopelessly Prosaic And Material?

London, That Great Cesspool Into Which All The Loungers And Idlers Of The Empire Are Irresistibly Drained.

You Cannot See The Lettuce And The Dressing Without Suspecting A Salad.

Everything I Have To Say Has Already Crossed Your Mind." "then Possibly My Answer Has Crossed Yours.