Christianity In The Suburb Is Cheerful. The

But One Wants The Idea Of Death, You Know, As Something Large And Unknowable, Something That Allows A Person To Stretch Himself Out. Especially One Wants It If One Is Tired. Or Perhaps What One Wants Is Simply A Release From Sensation, From All Consciousness For Ever.

There Are Moments Of Despair That Come Sometimes, When Night Sets In And A White Fog Presses Against The Windows. Then Our House Changes Its Shape, Rears Up And Becomes A Place Of Despair. Then Fear And Rage Run Simply--and The Thought Of Death As A Friend. This Is The Simplest Of Thoughts, That Death Must Come When We Call, Although He Is A God.

There Can Be No Good Art That Is International. Art To Be Vigorous And Gesund Must Use The Material At Hand.

It Is The Privilege Of The Rich To Waste The Time Of The Poor To Water With Tears In Secret A Tree That Grows In Secret That Bears Fruit In Secret That Ripened Falls To The Ground In Secret And Manures The Parent Tree Oh The Wicked Tree Of Hatred And The Secret The Sap Rising And The Tears Falling.

O Happy Dogs Of England, Bark Well At Errand Boys, If You Lived Anywhere Else, You Would Not Be Allowed To Make Such An Infernal Noise.