Love Is Woman's Business,and In "business" We

(speaking Of The Cistercian Monks) A Grim Fraternity, Passing Grim Lives In That Sweet Spot, That God Had Made So Bright! Strange That Nature's Voices All Around Them--the Soft Singing Of The Waters, The Wisperings Of The River Grass, The Music Of The Rushing Wind--should Not Have Taught Them A Truer Meaning Of Life Than This. They Listened There, Through The Long Days, In Silence, Waiting For A Voice From Heaven; And All Day Long And Through The Solemn Night It Spoke To Them In Myriad Tones, And They Heard It Not.

If There Is One Person I Do Despise More Than Another, It Is The Man Who Does Not Think Exactly The Same On All Topics As I Do.

Truth And Fact Are Old-fashioned And Out-of-date, My Friends, Fit Only For The Dull And Vulgar To Live By. Appearance, Not Reality, Is What The Clever Dog Grasps At In These Clever Days. We Spurn The Dull-brown Solid Earth; We Build Our Lives And Homes In The Fair-seeming Rainbow-land Of Shadow And Chimera.

The Odour Of Burgundy, And The Smell Of French Sauces, And The Sight Of Clean Napkins And Long Loaves, Knocked As A Very Welcome Visitor At The Door Of Our Inner Man.

Man, If He Would Live, Must Worship. He Looks Around, And What To Him, Within The Vision Of His Life, Is The Greatest And The Best, That He Falls Down And Does Reverence To.