And What Is Writ Is Writ -

If I Don't Write To Empty My Mind, I Go Mad. As To That Regular, Uninterrupted Love Of Writing. I Do Not Understand It. I Feel It As A Torture, Which I Must Get Rid Of, But Never As A Pleasure. On The Contrary, I Think Composition A Great Pain.

Well, Well, The World Must Turn Upon Its Axis, And All Mankind Turn With It, Heads Or Tails, And Live And Die, Make Love And Pay Our Taxes, And As The Veering Winds Shift, Shift Our Sails.

There Is No Instinct Like That Of The Heart.

The Dew Of Compassion Is A Tear.

The Truly Brave Are Soft Of Heart And Eyes, And Feel For What Their Duty Bids Them Do.