That Which Is Loved May Pass, But

Imagination Is At The Root Of Much That Passes For Love.

War Is Cruelty, And None Can Make It Gentle.

But Paying Is Part Of The Game Of Life: It Is The Joy Of Buying That We Crave.

The Music Throbbed In A Voice Of Singular And Delicate Power; The Air Was Resonant With Melody, Love And Pain. The Meanest Italian In The Gallery Far Up Beneath The Ceiling, The Most Exalted Of The Land In The Boxes And The Stalls, Leaned Indulgently Forward, To Be Swept By This Sweet Storm Of Song.

Every Shot That Kills Ricochets.