Reality, If Rightly Interpreted, Is Grander Than

Oh, Give Us The Man Who Sings At His Work.

A Word Spoken In Season, At The Right Moment; Is The Mother Of Ages.

There Is Endless Merit In A Man's Knowing When To Have Done.

The Most Unhappy Of All Men Is The Man Who Cannot Tell What He Is Going To Do, Who Has Got No Work Cut-out For Him In The World, And Does Not Go Into It. For Work Is The Grand Cure Of All The Maladies And Miseries That Ever Beset Mankind,honest Work, Which You Intend Getting Done.

There Is A Perennial Nobleness, And Even Sacredness, In Work. Were He Never So Benighted, Forgetful Of His High Calling, There Is Always Hope In A Man That Actually And Earnestly Works: In Idleness Alone There Is Perpetual Despair.