I Will Never Be An Old Man.

What, Then, Remains But That We Still Should Cry, For Being Born, And, Being Born, To Die?

No Artist Knows In His Own Lifetime Whether What He Does Will Be The Slightest Good, Because It Takes At Least Seventy-five To A Hundred Years Before The Thing Begins To Sort Itself Out.

If I Sit And Daydream, The Images Rush By Like A Succession Of Colored Slides.

As Is The Garden Such Is The Gardener. A Man's Nature Runs Either To Herbs Or Weeds.

A Man Finds Himself Seven Years Older The Day After His Marriage.