Death Hath So Many Doors To Let

Joys As Winged Dreams Fly Fast, / Why Should Sadness Longer Last? / Grief Is But A Wound To Woe; / Gentlest Fair, Mourn, Mourn No Moe.

He Who Goes To Bed, And Goes To Bed Sober, Falls As The Leaves Do, And Dies In October; But He Who Goes To Bed, And Goes To Bed Mellow, Lives As He Ought To Do, And Dies An Honest Fellow.

Of All The Forms Of Wisdom, Hindsight Is By General Consent The Least Merciful, The Most Unforgiving.

Drink Today, And Drown All Sorrow; You Shall Perhaps Not Do Tomorrow.

Ask How To Live? Write, Write, Write, Anything; The World's A Fine Believing World, Write News.