The Men That Women Marry,

Some Critics Are Like Chimney-sweepers; They Put Out The Fire Below, And Frighten The Swallows From Their Nests Above; They Scrape A Long Time In The Chimney, Cover Themselves With Soot, And Bring Nothing Away But A Bag Of Cinders, And Then Sing From The Top Of The House As If They Had Built It.

Who Dares To Say That He Alone Has Found The Truth?

O Beautiful, Awful Summer Day, What Hast Thou Given, What Taken Away?

I Love An Author The More For Having Been Himself A Lover Of Books.

What Else Remains For Me? Youth, Hope And Love; To Build A New Life On A Ruined Life.