If We Were Sensible We Would Seek

It Is True That I Have Sent Six Bullets Through The Head Of My Best Friend, And Yet I Hope To Show By This Statement That I Am Not His Murderer.

Unhappy Is He To Whom The Memories Of Childhood Bring Only Fear And Sadness.

No Amount Of Rationalisation, Reform, Or Freudian Analysis Can Quite Annul The Thrill Of The Chimney-corner Whisper Or The Lonely Wood.

In Search Of Truth The Hopeful Zealot Goes,but All The Sadder Tums, The More He Knows!

Only Poetry Or Madness Could Do Justice To The Noises.