My Share Of The Work May Be

People Do Not Like To Think. If One Thinks, One Must Reach Conclusions. Conclusions Are Not Always Pleasant.

Literature Is My Utopia

The Hands Of Those I Meet Are Dumbly Eloquent To Me. The Touch Of Some Hands Is An Impertinence. I Have Met People So Empty Of Joy, That When I Clasped Their Frosty Finger-tips, It Seemed As If I Were Shaking Hands With A Northeast Storm.

I Cannot Remember How I Felt When The Light Went Out Of My Eyes. I Suppose I Felt It Was Always Night And Perhaps I Wondered Why The Day Did Not Come.

Ideas Without Action Are Useless.