The Red Sun Was Pasted In The

There Were Many Who Went In Huddled Procession,they Knew Not Wither,but, At Any Rate, Success Or Calamitywould Attend All In Equality.there Was One Who Sought A New Road,he Went Into Direful Thickets,and Ultimately He Died Thus, Alone;but They Said He Had Courage.

Every Sin Is The Result Of Collaboration.

It Perhaps Might Be Said--if Any One Dared--that The Most Worthless Literature Of The World Has Been That Which Has Been Written By The Men Of One Nation Concerning The Men Of Another.

Mother, Whose Heart Hung Humble As A Button The Bright Splendid Shroud Of Your Son, Do Not Weep. War Is Kind.

Do Not Weep, Babe, For War Is Kind.because Your Father Tumbled In The Yellow Trenches,raged At His Breast, Gulped And Died,do Not Weep.war Is Kind.