He Gives Only The Worthless Gold Who

There Is No Bore We Dread Being Left Alone With So Much As Our Own Minds.

It Is The Privilege Of Genius That Life Never Grows Common Place, As It Does For The Rest Of Us.

Not But Wut Abstract War Is Horrid, I Sign To Thet With All My Heart, But Civilysation Doos Git Forrid Sometimes, Upon A Powder-cart.

Like Streams That Keep A Summer Mind Snow-hid In Jenooary.

The Question Of Common Sense Is Always: 'what Is It Good For?' - A Question Which Would Abolish The Rose And Be Answered Triumphantly By The Cabbage.