And If You Ask Again Whether There

Revolution? Unscrew The Flag-staff, Wrap The Bunting In The Oil Covers, And Put The Thing In The Clothes-chest. Let The Old Lady Bring You Your House-slippers And Untie Your Fiery Red Necktie. You Always Make Revolutions With Your Mugs, Your Republic--nothing But An Industrial Accident.

My Books, At Any Rate, Deserved To Be Burned.

No Country Is So Peaceful As The One That Leads Into Death. Life Arches Above One's Head Like A Bridgespan, And Below It Flows The Water, Carries The Boat, Takes It Further.

And If You Ask Again Whether There Is Any Justice In The World, You'll Have To Be Satisfied With The Reply: Not For The Time Being; At Any Rate, Not Up To This Friday.

One Encounters Very Capable Fathers Abashed By Their Piano-playing Daughters. Three Measures Of Schumann Make Them Red With Embarrassment.