She Is Intensely Human, And Lives To

Gentleman-rankers Out On The Spree, Damned From Here To Eternity.

There Are Nine-and-sixty Ways Of Constructing Tribal Lays, And Every Single One Of Them Is Right.

The American Has No Language, He Has A Dialect, Slang, Provincialism, Accent And So Forth

We Have Learned To Whittle The Eden Tree To The Shape Of A Surplice Peg, We Have Learned To Bottle Our Parents Twain In The Yelk Of An Addled Egg. We Know That The Tail Must Wag The Dog, For The Horse Is Drawn By The Cart, But The Devil Whoops, As He Whooped Of Old; It's Clever, But Is It Art?

Small Miseries, Like Small Debts, Hit Us In So Many Places, And Meet Us At So Many Turns And Corners, That What They Want In Weight, They Make Up In Number, And Render It Less Hazardous To Stand The Fire Of One Cannon Ball, Than A Volley Composed Of Such A Shower Of Bullets.