Give Me Love And Work - These

It Is The Childlike Part Of Us That Produces Works Of The Imagination. When We Were Children Time Passed So Slow With Us That We Seemed To Have Time For Everything.

It Is For Him That Is Lonely Or In Prison To Dream Of Fellowship, But For Him That Is Of A Fellowship To Do And Not To Dream.

I Have Said As Much As That The Aim Of Art Was To Destroy The Curse Of Labour By Making Work The Pleasurable Satisfaction Of Our Impulse Towards Energy, And Giving To That Energy Hope Of Producing Something Worth Its Exercise.

Yea, I Have Looked, And Seen November There; The Changeless Seal Of Change It Seemed To Be, Fair Death Of Things That, Living Once, Were Fair; Bright Sign Of Loneliness Too Great For Me, Strange Image Of The Dread Eternity, In Whose Void Patience How Can These Have Part, These Outstretched Feverish Hands, This Restless Heart?

We Are Only The Trustees For Those Who Come After Us.