The men that worked for England / They have their graves at home.

St George he was for England, / And before he killed the dragon / He drank a pint of English ale / Out of an English flagon.

Smile at us, pay us, pass us; but do not quite forget. / For we are the people of England, that never have spoken yet.

It was his home now. But it could not be his home till he had gone from it and returned to it. Now he was the Prodigal Son.

If you are afraid of loneliness, don't marry.

The artistic temperament is a disease that afflicts amateurs. It is a disease which arises from men no having sufficient power of expression to utter and get rid of the element of art in their being.