The man had arrived at that stage of drunkenness where affection is felt for the universe.

Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind. Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky And the affrighted steed ran on alone, Do not weep. War is kind. Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment, Little souls who thirst for fight, These men were born to drill and die. The unexplained glory flies above them, Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom -A field where a thousand corpses lie. Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.

Perhaps an individual must consider his own death to be the final phenomenon of nature.

A man said to the universe: 'Sir, I exist!' 'However,' replied the universe. 'The fact has not created in me A sense of obligation.

It was not well to drive men into final corners; at those moments they could all develop teeth and claws.

In the swirling rain that came at dusk the broad avenue glistened with that deep bluish tint which is so widely condemned when it is put into pictures.

It was surprising that Nature had gone tranquilly on with her golden process in the midst of so much devilment.