The Literature Of Disease Is More Interesting

I Loved You, So I Drew These Tides Of Men Into My Hands/and Wrote My Will Across The Sky In Stars

Half A Calamity Is Better Than A Whole One.

Suppose We Were (as We Might Be) An Influence, An Idea, A Thing Intangible, Invulnerable, Without Front Or Back, Drifting About Like A Gas? Armies Were Like Plants, Immobile, Firm-rooted, Nourished Through Long Stems To The Head. We Might Be A Vapour, Blowing Where We Listed Ours Should Be A War Of Detachment. We Were To Contain The Enemy By The Silent Threat Of A Vast, Unknown Desert

We Lived Always In The Stretch Or Sag Of Nerves, Either On The Crest Or In The Trough Of Waves Of Feeling.

As Long As The Arabs Fight Tribe Against Tribe, So Long Will They Be A Little People, A Silly People, Greedy, Barbarous And Cruel.