Does Not All The Blood Within Me

It Has Done Me Good To Be Somewhat Parched By The Heat And Drenched By The Rain Of Life.

Often Times We Call A Man [or Woman] Cold When He [or She] Is Only Sad.

The Mind Of The Scholar, If You Would Have It Large And Liberal, Should Come In Contact With Other Minds. It Is Better That His Armor Should Be Somewhat Bruised By Rude Encounters Even, Than Hang Forever Rusting On The Wall.

For It Is The Fate Of A Woman Long To Be Patient And Silent, To Wait Like A Ghost That Is Speechless, Till Some Questioning Voice Dissolves The Spell Of Its Silence. Hence Is The Inner Life Of So Many Suffering Women Sunless And Silent And Deep, Like Subterranean Rivers Runnng Through Caverns Of Darkness.

Whatever Poet, Orator, Or Sage May Say Of It, Old Age Is Still Old Age.