Poor playthings of the man that's gone,
Surely we would not have them thrown,
Like wreckage on a barren strand,
The prey of every greedy hand.
— Frederick York Powell
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More quotes by Frederick York Powell
It was a soufflé of a speech, light, pleasant, digestible, and nourishing also.
We cannot steer our drifting raft, nor stem the resistless current; but we have it in our power to behave decently, to share the meagre stock of victuals fairly as long as they last, to take the good and evil as it comes, and even to hope, if we choose to do so, for a fair haven.
The Pilgrims' Way: A Little Scrip of Good Counsel for Travellers by Arthur Quiller-Couch (1907)
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