I have a thousand images of you in an hour; all different and all coming back to the same. I think of you once against a sky line: and on the hill that Sunday morning. The light and the shadow and quietness and the rain and the wood. And you. Your arms and lips and hair and shoulders and voice - you.

And I shall find some girl perhaps, and a better one than you, With eyes as wise, but kindlier, and lips as soft, but true, and I dare say she will do.

A book may be compared to your neighbor: if it be good, it cannot last too long; if bad, you cannot get rid of it too early.

Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.

Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!

And in that Heaven of all their wish, there shall be no more land, say fish

Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.