With Usura With Usura Hath No Man

I Desired My Dust To Be Mingled With Yours Forever And Forever And Forever.

The Apparition Of These Faces In The Crowd; Petals On A Wet Black Bough.

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

America, My Country, Is Almost A Continent And Hardly Yet A Nation.

Until You Know Who Has Lent What To Whom, You Know Nothing Whatever Of Politics, You Know Nothing Whatever Of History, You Know Nothing Of International Wrangles.