The White Moth To The

War Is An Ill Thing, As I Surely Know. But 'twould Be An Ill World For Weaponless Dreamers If Evil Men Were Not Now And Then Slain.

If The Aunt Of The Vicar Has Never Touched Liquor, Watch Out When She Finds The Champagne.

And The First Rude Sketch That The World Had Seen Was Joy To His Mighty Heart, Till The Devil Whispered Behind The Leaves 'it's Pretty, But Is It Art?'

If A Man Brings A Good Mind To What He Reads He May Become, As It Were, The Spiritual Descendant To Some Extent Of Great Men, And This Link, This Spiritual Hereditary Tie, May Help To Just Kick The Beam In The Right Direction At A Vital Crisis; Or May Keep Him From Drifting Through The Long Slack Times When, So To Speak, We Are Only Fielding And No Balls Are Coming Our Way.

If You Can Think–and Not Make Thoughts Your Aim.