I Think That Travel Comes From Some

A Man Is A Very Small Thing, And The Night Is Very Large And Full Of Wonders.

Modern Poets Are Bells Of Lead. They Should Tinkle Melodiously But Usually They Just Klunk.

How Beautiful Are Dreams! In Dreams The Dead May Live, Even The Long Dead And The Very Silent.

If One Who Looked From A Tower For A New Star, Watching For Years The Same Part Of The Sky, Suddenly Saw It (quite By Chance While Thinking Of Other Things), And Knew It For The Star For Which He Had Hoped, How Many Millions Of Men Would Never Care?

Come With Me, Ladies And Gentlemen Who Are In Any Wise Weary Of London: Come With Me: And Those That Tire At All Of The World We Know: For We Have New Worlds Here.