It's Not The Sort Of Night For

Well, Very Long Ago, On The Spot Where The Wild Wood Waves Now, Before Ever It Had Planted Itself And Grown Up To What It Now Is, There Was A City - A City Of People, You Know. Here, Where We Are Standing, They Lived, And Walked, And Talked, And Slept, And Carried On Their Business. Here They Stabled Their Horses And Feasted, From Here They Rode Out To Fight Or Drove Out To Trade. They Were A Powerful People, And Rich, And Great Builders. They Built To Last, For They Thought Their City Would Last For Ever.

All This He Saw, For One Moment Breathless And Intense, Vivid On The Morning Sky; And Still, As He Looked, He Lived; And Still, As He Lived, He Wondered.

Footprints In The Snow Have Been Unfailing Provokers Of Sentiment Ever Since Snow Was First A White Wonder In This Drab-coloured World Of Ours.

The Strongest Human Instinct Is To Impart Information, The Second Strongest Is To Resist It.

Weasels--and Stoats--and Foxes--and So On. They're All Right In A Way--i'm Very Good Friends With Them--pass The Time Of Day When We Meet, And All That--but They Break Out Sometimes, There's No Denying It, And Then--well, You Can't Really Trust Them, And That's The Fact.