More Men Die Of Worry Than Of

Word I Was In My Life Alone, / Word I Had No One Left But God.

But I Have Promises To Keep, And Miles To Go Before I Sleep, And Miles To Go Before I Sleep.

The Ear Is The Only True Writer And The Only True Reader.

A Breeze Discovered My Open Book And Began To Flutter The Leaves To Look

One Of The Lies Would Make It Out That Nothing Ever Presents Itself Before Us Twice. Where Would We Be At Last If That Were So? Our Very Life Depends On Everything's Recurring Till We Answer From Within.