My Dear Tom, Delighted To

The Dust Will Not Settle In Our Time. And When It Does Some Great Roaring Machine Will Come And Whirl It All Skyhigh Again.

How Do You Manage It, She Said, At Your Age? I Told Her I'd Been Saving Up For Her All My Life.

Personally I Have No Bone To Pick With Graveyards, I Take The Air There Willingly, Perhaps More Willingly Than Elsewhere, When Take The Air I Must.

I Shall State Silences More Competently Than Ever A Better Man Spangled The Butterflies Of Vertigo.

We Are Not Saints, But We Have Kept Our Appointment. How Many People Can Boast As Much?