He was concerned now more with livelihood than with life: Goddess, Planet or Mortal, he had no longer any thought of . - Norman Davey

Monte Carlo itself is a fairy city given over to the worship of the hazard: a toy town, designed for the entertainment of the idle and the rich: a stage, particularly furnished with properties to deceive the vulgar, to intrigue folk of a small imagination. ... It is a shrine at which the artificial is natural: the useless, of use: the unreal, real: the false, true: a temple in which the painted cardboard is gold and silver: the wooden sword, Excalibur; and the paste, jewels. But Monaco, or rather the harbour of Monaco, is of a reverse order, for, here, the natural is artificial: not the useless of use, but the useful, useless: not the unreal, real, but the real, unreal. It is a place of essential and primitive things which are, here, accidental and secondary.

Far beneath where our airmen fly, </br> Slowly the Garrison guns go by. </br> Breaking through bramble and thorn and gorse </br> Towed by engines or dragged by horse, </br> The great guns, </br> The late guns, </br> That slowly rumble up </br> To enable Messrs. to converse with Messrs. .

By Charing Cross in London Town </br> There runs a road of high renown, </br> Where antique books are ranged on shelves </br> As dark and dusty as themselves. And many booklovers have spent </br> Their substance there with great content, </br> And vexed their wives and filled their homes </br> With faded prints and massive tomes.