The Unsaid Part Is The Best Of

Sleep Is Not, Death Is Not; Who Seem To Die Live. House You Were Born In, Friends Of Your Spring-time, Old Man And Young Maid, Day's Toil And It's Guerdon, They Are All Vanishing, Fleeing To Fables, Cannot Be Moored

There Is One Topic Peremptorily Forbidden To All Well-bred, To All Rational Mortals, Namely, Their Distempers.

You Think Me The Child Of Circumstance; I Make My Circumstance.

The Artist Always Has The Masters In His Eyes.

Make Yourself Necessary To The World, And Mankind Will Give You Bread.