I Worshipped Dead Men For

Travel Is In Sad Case. It Is Uncomfortable, It Is Expensive; It Is A Source Of Annoyance To Our Friends, And Of Loneliness To Ourselves.

There's No Beginning To The Farmer's Year, / Only Recurrent Patterns On A Scroll / Unwinding...

I Loved You When Love Was Spring, And May, Loved You When Summer Deepened Into June, And Now When Autumn Yellows All The Leaves.

One Must Be Businesslike, Although The Glass Is Falling.

Among The Many Problems Which Beset The Novelist, Not The Least Weighty Is The Choice Of The Moment At Which To Begin His Novel.