Science Is Better Than Sympathy, If Only

There Is Something Majestic In The Bad Taste Of Italy.

The More Highly Public Life Is Organized The Lower Does Its Morality Sink.

I Am So Used To Seeing The Sort Of Play Which Deals With One Man And Two Women. They Do Not Leave Me With The Feeling I Have Made A Full Theatrical Meal They Do Not Give Me The Experience Of The Multiplicity Of Life.

The Present Flowed By Them Like A Stream. The Tree Rustled. It Had Made Music Before They Were Born, And Would Continue After Their Deaths, But Its Song Was Of The Moment. The Moment Had Passed. The Tree Rustled Again. Their Senses Were Sharpened, And They Seemed To Apprehend Life. Life Passed. The Tree Rustled Again.

The English Countryside, Its Growth And Its Destruction, Is A Genuine And Tragic Theme.