This Is No Book. Whoever Touches This

Compose In The Sequence Of The Musical Phrase, Not In Sequence Of A Metronome.

This Is No Book. Whoever Touches This Touches A Man.

I Ask A Wreathwhich Will Not Crush My Head. And There Is No Hurry About It; I Shall Have, Doubtless, A Boom After My Funeral, Seeing That Long Standing Increases All Things Regardless Of Quality.

As A Bathtub Lined With White Porcelain, When The Hot Water Gives Out Or Goes Tepid, So Is The Slow Cooling Of Our Chivalrous Passion, O My Much Praised But-not-altogether-satisfactory Lady.

There Is No Topicmore Soporific And Generally Boring Than The Topic Of Ireland As Ireland, As A Nation.