Poverty Keeps Together More Homes Than It

I Am Not Collecting Copies Of The Cheaper Editions Of Omar Khayyám. I Gave The Last Four That I Received To The Lift-boy, And I Like To Think Of Him Reading Them, With Fitzgerald's Notes, To His Aged Mother. Lift-boys Always Have Aged Mothers; Shows Such Nice Feeling On Their Part, I Think.

He Seems The Incarnation Of Everything Soft And Silky And Velvety, Without A Sharp Edge In His Composition, A Dreamer Whose Philosophy Is Sleep And Let Sleep.

On Horseback He Seemed To Require As Many Hands As A Hindu God, At Least Four For Clutching The Reins, And Two More For Patting The Horse Soothingly On The Neck.

People Talk Vaguely About The Innocence Of A Little Child, But They Take Mighty Good Care Not To Let It Out Of Their Sight For Twenty Minutes.

Life Is Full Of Its Disappointments, And I Suppose The Art Of Being Happy Is To Disguise Them As Illusions.