Not On One Strand Are All Life's

The Greatest Foe To Art Is Luxury, Art Cannot Live In Its Atmosphere.

A World Made To Be Lost, - A Bitter Life 'twixt Pain And Nothing Tost.

O Thrush, Your Song Is Passing Sweet, But Never A Song That You Have Sung Is Half So Sweet As Thrushes Sang When My Dear Love And I Were Young.

When Socialism Comes, It May Be In Such A Form That We Won't Like It.

I Have Said As Much As That The Aim Of Art Was To Destroy The Curse Of Labour By Making Work The Pleasurable Satisfaction Of Our Impulse Towards Energy, And Giving To That Energy Hope Of Producing Something Worth Its Exercise.