I, A Stranger And Afraid, In A

Poetry Is Not The Thing Said, But The Way Of Saying It.

Into My Hear An Air That Kills Through Yon Far Country Blows What Are Those Blue Remembered Hills What Spires,what Farms Are Those? That Is The Land Of Lost Content I Can See It Shining Plain The Happy Highways Where I Went And Cannot Come Again.

I Do Not Choose The Right Word, I Get Rid Of The Wrong One.

Existence Is Not Itself A Good Thing, That We Should Spend A Lifetime Securing Its Necessaries: A Life Spent, However Victoriously, In Securing The Necessaries Of Life Is No More Than An Elaborate Furnishing And Decoration Of Apartments For The Reception Of A Guest Who Is Never To Come. Our Business Here Is Not To Live, But To Live Happily.

But Men At Whiles Are Sober And Think By Fits And Starts. And If They Think, They Fasten Their Hands Upon Their Hearts