Henry Noel Brailsford Quotes

They are Nietzsche's over-men, these primitive Albanians - something between kings and tigers.

Swans moulting die, snow melts to tears, Roses do blush and hang their heads

Gaze not on swans, in whose soft breast, A full-hatched beauty seems to nest Nor snow, which falling from the sky Hovers in its virginity.