When a Wanderess has been caged, or perched with her wings clipped, She lives like a Stoic, She lives most heroic, smiling with ruby, moistened lips once her cup of Death is welcome sipped.

I spent the afternoon musing on Life. If you come to think of it, what a queer thing Life is! So unlike anything else, don't you know, if you see what I mean. At any moment you may be strolling peacefully along, and all the time Life's waiting around the corner to fetch you one. You can't tell when you may be going to get it. It's all dashed puzzling. Here was poor old George, as well-meaning a fellow as every stepped, getting swatted all over the ring by the hand of Fate. Why? That's what I asked myself. Just Life, don't you know. That's all there was about it.

I__ not absolutely certain of my facts, but I rather fancy it__ Shakespeare__r, if not, it__ some equally brainy lad__ho says that it__ always just when a chappie is feeling particularly top-hole, and more than usually braced with things in general that Fate sneaks up behind him with a bit of lead piping.

What happened when we died? How were we to know that death wasn't as profound an adventure as life was?

- __ow about flipping a coin;_ she made a pretty remark and the two women turned around andlooked at her irritated.- __hat's right, go ahead, jock about it. You are not the one trying to change her heart, I am, and youknow damn well how painful that can be!__and of Passion

I am as devoted to adventure now as then, and that__ never going to stop.