Song in the Manner of Housman" O woe, woe, People are born and die, We also shall be dead pretty soon Therefore let us act as if we were dead already. The bird sits on the hawthorn tree But he dies also, presently. Some lads get hung, and some get shot. Woeful is this human lot. Woe! woe, etcetera.... London is a woeful place, Shropshire is much pleasanter. Then let us smile a little space Upon fond nature's morbid grace. Oh, Woe, woe, woe, etcetera.

Almost any fool can paint an academy picture, and any imbecile can shoot off a Kodak.

Technique is the test of sincerity.

The apparition of these faces in the crowd; Petals on a wet black bough.

America, my country, is almost a continent and hardly yet a nation.

Music begins to atrophy when it departs too far from the dance... poetry begins to atrophy when it gets too far from music.

It would be about as easy for an American to become a Chinaman or a Hindoo as for him to acquire an Englishness or a Frenchness or a European-ness that is more than half skin deep.