There Is No Beauty Or Romance Or

Modern Poets Are Bells Of Lead. They Should Tinkle Melodiously But Usually They Just Klunk.

Once I Found Out The Secret Of The Universe. I Have Forgotten What It Was, But I Know That The Creator Does Not Take Creation Seriously, For I Remember That He Sat In Space With All His Work In Front Of Him And Laughed.

How Beautiful Are Dreams! In Dreams The Dead May Live, Even The Long Dead And The Very Silent.

Everyone's Future Is, In Reality, Uncertain And Full Of Unknown Treasures From Which All May Draw Unguessed Prizes.

If One Who Looked From A Tower For A New Star, Watching For Years The Same Part Of The Sky, Suddenly Saw It (quite By Chance While Thinking Of Other Things), And Knew It For The Star For Which He Had Hoped, How Many Millions Of Men Would Never Care?