The cool kindliness of sheets, that soon smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss of blankets.
I have need to busy my heart with quietude.
Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.
If I should die, think only this of me: that there's some corner of a foreign field that is for ever England.
Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead! There's none of these so lonely and poor of old, But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold.