Love Has No Age, No

Love Could Never Come To Full Fruition Till It Was Destroyed.

Looking Back On The Long-stretched-out Body Of One's Work, It Is Interesting To Mark The Endless Duel Fought Within A Man Between The Emotional And Critical Sides Of His Nature, First One, Then The Other, Getting The Upper Hand, And Too Seldom Fusing Till The Result Has The Mellowness Of Full Achievement. One Can Even Tell The Nature Of One's Readers, By Their Preference For The Work Which Reveals More Of This Side Than Of That.

Humanism Is The Creed Of Those Who Believe That In The Circle Of Enwrapping Mystery, Men's Fates Are In Their Own Hands - A Faith That For Modern Man Is Becoming The Only Possible Faith.

It Was Such A Spring Day As Breathes Into A Man An Ineffable Yearning, A Painful Sweetness, A Longing That Makes Him Stand Motionless, Looking At The Leaves Or Grass, And Fling Out His Arms To Embrace He Knows Not What.

From Behind A Wooden Crate We Saw A Long Black-muzzled Nose Poking Round At Us. We Took Him Out-soft, Wobbly, Tearful; Set Him Down On His Four, As Yet Not Quite Simultaneous Legs, And Regarded Him. He Wandered A Little Round Our Legs, Neither Wagging His Tail Nor Licking At Our Hands; Then He Looked Up, And My Companion Said: "he's An Angel!"