I Shall Not Die Of A Cold.

It Is A Tragic Hour, That Hour When We Are Finally Driven To Reckon With Ourselves, When Every Avenue Of Mental Distraction Has Been Cut Off And Our Own Life And All Its Ineffaceable Failures Closes About Us Like The Walls Of That Old Torture Chamber Of The Inquisition.

What Was Any Art But A Mould In Which To Imprison For A Moment The Shining Elusive Element Which Is Life Itself - Life Hurrying Past Us And Running Away, Too Strong To Stop, Too Sweet To Lose.

There Is Often A Good Deal Of The Child Left In People Who Have Had To Grow Up Too Soon.

Let People Go On Talking As They Like, And We Will Go On Living As We Think Best.

The Only Thing Very Noticeable About Nebraska Was That It Was Still, All Day Long, Nebraska.