Art... Does Not Take Kindly To Facts,

I Am Seventy Years Old, A Gray Age Weighted With Uncompromising Biblical Allusions. It Ought To Have A Gray Outlook, But It Hasn't, Because A Glint Of Dazzling Sunshine Is Dancing Merrily Ahead Of Me.

It Is Not Every Tourist Who Bubbles Over With Mirth, And That Unquenchable Spirit Of Humor Which Turns A Trial Into A Blessing.

Sleep Sweetly In The Fields Of Asphodel, And Waken, As Of Old, To Stretch Thy Languid Length, And Purr Thy Soft Contentment To The Skies.

Letter-writing On The Part Of A Busy Man Or Woman Is The Quintessence Of Generosity.

Wit Is A Thing Capable Of Proof.