His folly has not fellow Beneath the blue of day That gives to man or woman His heart and soul away.

With rue my heart is laden For golden friends I had, For many a rose-lipped maiden And many a lightfoot lad.

I find Cambridge an asylum, in every sense of the word.

But if you ever come to a road where danger; Or guilt or anguish or shame's to share. Be good to the lad who loves you true, And the soul that was born to die for you; And whistle and I'll be there.

I, a stranger and afraid, in a world I never made.

On occasions, after drinking a pint of beer at luncheon, there would be a flow into my mind with sudden and unaccountable emotion, sometimes a line or two of verse, sometimes a whole stanza, accompanied, not preceded by a vague notion of the poem which they were destined to form a part of.... I say bubble up because, so far as I could make out, the source of the suggestions thus proffered to the brain was the pit of the stomach.

Some men are more interesting than their books but my book is more interesting than its man.