Hymns Are The Poetry Of The People.

I Am Still Reeling With Delight At The Soaring Majesty Of Norfolk.

Imprisoned In A Cage Of Sound, Even The Trivial Seems Profound

And Behind Their Frail Partitions Business Women Lie And Soak, Seeing Through The Draughty Skylight Flying Clouds And Railway Smoke. Rest You There, Poor Unbelov'd Ones, Lap Your Loneliness In Heat, All Too Soon The Tiny Breakfast, Trolley-bus And Windy Street!

It's Strange That Those We Miss The Most Are Those We Take For Granted.

Approval Of What Is Approved Of Is As False As A Well-kept Vow.