The Rats Are Underneath The Piles/ The

The Nightingales Are Singing Near The Convent Of The Sacred Heart, And Sang Within The Bloody Wood When Agamemnon Cried Aloud, And Let Their Liquid Siftings Fall To Stain The Stiff Dishonored Shroud.

I Said To My Soul, Be Still And Wait Without Hope, For Hope Would Be Hope For The Wrong Thing; Wait Without Love, For Love Would Be Love Of The Wrong Thing; There Is Yet Faith, But The Faith And The Love Are All In The Waiting. Wait Without Thought, For You Are Not Ready For Thought: So The Darkness Shall Be The Light, And The Stillness The Dancing.

Finding A Way To Live The Simple Life Is One Of Life's Supreme Complications.

Every Nation, Every Race, Has Not Only Its Own Creative, But Its Own Critical Turn Of Mind; And Is Even More Oblivious Of The Shortcomings And Limitations Of Its Critical Habits Than Of Those Of Its Creative Genius.

Gin And Drugs, Dear Lady, Gin And Drugs.