Only The Rich Are Lonesome.

A Crust Of Bread And A Corner To Sleep In. A Minute To Smile And An Hour To Weep In. A Pint Of Joy To A Peck Of Trouble, And Never A Laugh But The Moans Come Double. And That Is Life. A Crust And A Corner That Makes Love Precious, With A Smile To Warm And Tears To Refresh Us, And Joy Seems Sweeter When Cares Come After, And A Moan Is The Finest Of Foils For Laughter. And That Is Life.

The Age Is Materialistic. Verse Isn't. I Must Be With The Age, So I Am Writing Prose.

Money Is A Great Dignifier.

I Hope There Is Something Worthy In My Writings And Not Merely The Novelty Of A Black Face Associated With The Power To Rhyme That Has Attracted Attention.

This, This Indeed Is To Be Accursed, For If We Mortals Love, Or If We Sing, We Count Our Joys Not By What We Have, But By What Kept Us From That Perfect Thing.