Sweet April's Tears, Dead On The Hem

Sweet April's Tears, Dead On The Hem Of May.

The Spot Of Ground On Which A Man Has Stood Is Forever Interesting To Him.

And In Any Case, To The Old Man, When The World Becomes Trite, The Triteness Arises Not So Much From A Cessation As From A Transference Of Interest. What Is Taken From This World Is Given To The Next. The Glory Is In The East In The Morning, It Is In The West In The Afternoon, And When It Is Dark The Splendour Is Irradiating The Realm Of The Under-world. He Would Only Follow.

Death Is The Ugly Fact Which Nature Has To Hide, And She Hides It Well.

A Single Soul Is Richer Than All The Worlds.