If nature had arranged that husbands and wives should have children alternatively, there would never be more than three in a family.

I was just then going through a healthy reaction from the orthodoxy of my youth; religion had become for me not so much a possession as an obsession, which I was trying to throw off, and this iconoclastic tale of an imaginary tribe was the result.

The mere dates of my existence do not interest me, except in one connection. When the Great War started I was too old to be acceptable as a volunteer; when conscription followed I was too old to be conscripted.

Two more years were to go by before I knew anything about William Blake. Many years later, when his wife died, my godfather gave me the two books as a remembrance.

I had never thought of myself as a dramatist, and, for really good technical results, the thought came too late: a man of letters has become too wordy to write economically for the stage.

Feast of John, Apostle & Evangelist Father eternal, ruler of creation, Spirit of life, which moved ere form was made Through the thick darkness covering every nation Light to man's blindness, O be Thou our aid. Races and peoples, lo, we stand divided, And, sharing not our griefs, no joy can share; By wars and tumults love is mocked, derided His conquering cross no kingdom wills to bear. Envious of heart, blind-eyed, with tongues confounded, Nation by nation still goes unforgiven, In wrath and fear, by jealousies surrounded, Building proud towers which shall not reach to heaven. Lust of possession worketh desolations; There is no meekness in the sons of earth; Led by no star, the rulers of the nations Still fail to bring us to the blissful birth: How shall we love Thee, holy hidden Being, If we love not the world which Thou hast made? O give us brother-love for better seeing Thy Word made flesh, and in a manger laid.