I Alone Of English Writers Have Consciously

Evolution Is Like Walking On A Rolling Barrel. The Walker Isn't So Much Interested In Where The Barrel Is Going As He Is In Keeping On Top Of It.

In A Glass Of Cider It Seemed I Was A Mite Of Sediment That Waited For The Bottom To Ferment So I Could Catch A Bubble In Ascent. I Rode Up On One Till The Bubble Burst, And When That Left Me To Sink Back Reversed I Was No Worse Off Than I Was At First. I'd Catch Another Bubble If I Waited. The Thing Was To Get Now And Then Elated.

Loyalty Is That For The Lack Of Which Your Gang Will Shoot You Without Benefit Of Trial By Jury.

Only Where Love And Need Are One, And The Work Is Play For Mortal Stakes Is The Deed Ever Truly Done For Heaven And The Future's Sakes

Possessing What We Still Were Unpossessed By, Possessed By What We Now No More Possessed.