What Is Our Innocence, What Is Our

Concurring Hands Divide Flax For Damask That When Bleached By Irish Weather Has The Silvered Chamois-leather Water-tightness Of A Skin.

They Fought The Enemy, We Fight Fat Living And Self-pity. Shine, O Shine, Unfalsifying Sun, On This Sick Scene.

There Is No Pleasure Subtler Than The Sensation Of Being A Good Workman; And In Work There Is The Sense Of Consanguinity-unconscious As A Rule But Sometimes Conscious.

When One Is Frank, One's Very Presence Is A Compliment.

The Sea Is A Collector, Quick To Return A Rapacious Look.