Little Lies Are Very Dangerous, Because There

Love Is The Wine Of Existence. When You Have Taken That, You Have Taken The Most Precious Drop That There Is In The Cluster.

What If The Leaves Were To Fall A-weeping, And Say, "it Will Be So Painful For Us To Be Pulled From Our Stalks, When Autumn Comes?" Foolish Fear! Summer Goes, And Autumn Succeeds. The Glory Of Death Is Upon The Leaves; And The Gentlest Breeze That Blows Takes Them Softly And Silently From The Bough, And They Float Slowly Down, Like Fiery Sparks, Upon The Moss.

Man Is That Name Of Power Which Rises Above Them All, And Gives To Every One The Right To Be That Which God Meant He Should Be.

If A Man Has Come To That Point Where He Is No Content That He Says; I Do Not Want To Know Any More, Or Do Any More Or Be Any More, He Is In A State In Which He Ought To Be Changed Into A Mummy.

It Is The Color Which Love Wears, And Cheerfulness, And Joy--these Three. It Is The Light In The Window Of The Face By Which The Heart Signifies To Father, Husband, Or Friend That It Is At Home And Waiting.