I'm Tired Of Love; I'm

Oh, You Should Never, Never Doubt What Nobody Is Sure About.

I Said To Heart, "how Goes It?" Heart Replied: "right As A Ribstone Pippin!" But It Lied.

The Church Is A Perpetually Defeated Thing That Always Outlives Her Conquerers.

If We Are To Be Happy, Decent And Secure Of Our Souls: Drink Some Kind Of Fermented Liquor With One's Food; Go On The Water From Time To Time; Dance On Occasions, And Sing In A Chorus.

The Tender Evenlode That Makes Her Meadows Hush To Hear The Sound Of Waters Mingling In The Brakes, And Binds My Heart To English Ground. A Lovely River, All Alone, She Lingers In The Hills And Holds A Hundred Little Towns Of Stone, Forgotten In The Western Wolds.