Love Could Never Come To

Not The Least Hard Thing To Bear When They Go From Us, These Quiet Friends, Is That They Carry Away With Them So Many Years Of Our Own Lives.

Art Is The One Form Of Human Energy In The Whole World, Which Really Works For Union, And Destroys The Barriers Between Man And Man. It Is The Continual, Unconscious Replacement, However Fleeting, Of Oneself By Another; The Real Cement Of Human Life; The Everlasting Refreshment And Renewal. For, What Is Grievous, Dompting, Grim, About Our Lives Is That We Are Shut Up Within Ourselves, With An Itch To Get Outside Ourselves. And To Be Stolen Away From Ourselves By Art Is A Momentary Relaxation From That Itching, A Minute's Profound, And As It Were Secret, Enfranchisement.

The French Cook; We Open Tins.

It Isnot Good Enough Tospend Time And Ink Indescribing The Penultimate Sensations And Physical Movements Of People Getting Into A State Of Rut, We All Know Them So Well.

The Young Man Who, At The End Of September, 1924, Dismounted From A Taxicab In South Square, Westminster, Was So Unobtrusively American That His Driver Had Some Hesitation In Asking For Double His Fare. The Young Man Had No Hesitation In Refusing It.