The Quiet Tenderness Of Chaucer, Where You

A Wise Skepticism Is The First Attribute Of A Good Critic.

Hush! Still As Death, The Tempest Holds His Breath As From A Sudden Will; The Rain Stops Short, But From The Eaves You See It Drop, And Hear It From The Leaves, All Is So Bodingly Still.

It Is Curious How Tyrannical The Habit Of Reading Is, And What Shifts We Make To Escape Thinking. There Is No Bore We Dread Being Left Alone With So Much As Our Own Minds.

It Is By Presence Of Mind In Untried Emergencies That The Native Metal Of Man Is Tested.

We Kind O' Thought Christ Went Agin War An' Pillage.