Language Is Fossil Poetry.

No Man Can Help Another Without Helping Himself.

People Are Timid And Apologetic; They Are No Longer Upright; They Dare Not Say "i Think," "i Am," But Quote Some Saint Or Sage. They Are Ashamed Before The Blade Of Grass Or The Blowing Rose. These Roses Under My Window Make No Reference To Former Roses Or To Better Ones; They Are For What They Are; They Exist With God To-day.

What We Call Results Are Beginnings.

When I Go Into The Garden With A Spade And Dig A Bed I Feel Such An Exhilaration And Health That I Discover That I Have Been Defrauding Myself All This Time In Letting Others Do For Me What I Should Have Done With My Own Hands.

Not For Nothing One Face, One Character, One Fact Makes Much Impression On Him, And Another None.