Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir/ Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine, / With a cargo of ivory, / And apes and peacocks,/Sandalwood, cedarwood and sweet white wine.

It is too maddening. I've got to fly off, right now, to some devilish navy yard, three hours in a seasick steamer, and after being heartily sick, I'll have to speak three times, and then I'll be sick coming home. Still, who would not be sick for England?

Life, a beauty chased by tragic laughter.

I have seen flowers come in stony places
And kind things done by men with ugly faces
And the gold cup won by the worst horse at the races,
So I trust too.

In this life he laughs longest who laughs last.

My race being run, I love to watch the race