Lord, Keep My Memory Green.

We Forge The Chains We Wear In Life.

An Inebriated Elderly Gentleman In The Last Depths Of Shabbiness... Played The Calm And Virtuous Old Men.

He Appeared To Enjoy Beyond Everything The Sound Of His Own Voice. I Couldn't Wonder At That, For It Was Mellow And Full And Gave Great Importance To Every Word He Uttered. He Listened To Himself With Obvious Satisfaction And Sometimes Gently Beat Time To His Own Music With His Head Or Rounded A Sentence With His Hand.

Poetry Makes Life What Lights And Music Do The Stage.

... Treachery Don't Come Natural To Beaming Youth; But Trust And Pity, Love And Constancy,-they Do, Thank God!