I Must Go Down To

It's A Warm Wind, The West Wind, Full Of Birds' Cries; I Never Hear The West Wind But Tears Are In My Eyes. For It Comes From The West Lands, The Old Brown Hills, And April's In The West Wind, And Daffodils.

Most Roads Lead Men Homewards, My Road Leads Me Forth

The Three Foundations Of Judgement: Bold Design, Constant Practice, And Frequent Mistakes.

It Ought To Have Gangsters, And Aeroplanes And A Lot Of Automatic Pistols.

It May Be That We Cease; We Cannot Tell. Even If We Cease, Life Is A Miracle.