What Matters Is Not The Idea A

What Thou Lovest Well Remains, The Rest Is Dross What Thou Lov'st Well Shall Not Be Reft From Thee What Thou Lov'st Well Is Thy True Heritage Whose World, Or Mine Or Theirs Or Is It Of None? First Came The Seen, Then Thus The Palpable Elysium, Though It Were In The Halls Of Hell. What Thou Lovest Well Is Thy True Heritage.

Song In The Manner Of Housman" O Woe, Woe, People Are Born And Die, We Also Shall Be Dead Pretty Soon Therefore Let Us Act As If We Were Dead Already. The Bird Sits On The Hawthorn Tree But He Dies Also, Presently. Some Lads Get Hung, And Some Get Shot. Woeful Is This Human Lot. Woe! Woe, Etcetera.... London Is A Woeful Place, Shropshire Is Much Pleasanter. Then Let Us Smile A Little Space Upon Fond Nature's Morbid Grace. Oh, Woe, Woe, Woe, Etcetera.

No Man Understands A Deep Book Until He Has Seen And Lived At Least Part Of Its Contents.

The Serious Artist Must Be As Open As Nature. Nature Does Not Give All Of Herself In A Paragraph. She Is Rugged And Not Set Apart Into Discreet Categories.

Utter Originality Is, Of Course, Out Of The Question.