I Could Write For Hours On The

To Have News Value Is To Have A Tin Can Tied To One's Tail.

We Had Been Hopelessly Labouring To Plough Waste Lands; To Make Nationality Grow In A Place Full Of The Certainty Of God… Among The Tribes Our Creed Could Be Only Like The Desert Grass – A Beautiful Swift Seeming Of Spring; Which, After A Day’s Heat, Fell Dusty.

I Loved You, So I Drew These Tides Of Men Into My Hands/and Wrote My Will Across The Sky In Stars

Do Not Try And Do Too Much With Your Own Hands. Better The Arabs Do It Tolerably Than You Do It Perfectly. It Is Their War, And You Are To Help Them, Not Win It For Them.

I Haven't Got A Heart: Only The Former Site Of One, With A Monument There To Say That It Has Been Removed And The Area It Occupied Turned Into A Public Garden, In Pursuance Of The Slum-clearance Scheme.