Some People Are Nobody's Enemies But Their

Philosophers Are Only Men In Armor After All.

The Earth Covered With A Sable Pall As For The Burial Of Yesterday; The Clumps Of Dark Trees, Its Giant Plumes Of Funeral Feathers, Waving Sadly To And Fro: All Hushed, All Noiseless, And In Deep Repose, Save The Swift Clouds That Skim Across The Moon, And The Cautious Wind, As, Creeping After Them Upon The Ground, It Stops To Listen, And Goes Rustling On, And Stops Again, And Follows, Like A Savage On The Trail.

The Broken Heart. You Think You Will Die, But You Just Keep Living, Day After Day After Terrible Day.

Industry Is The Soul Of Business And The Keystone Of Prosperity.

In Seasons Of Pestilence, Some Of Us Will Have A Secret Attraction To The Disease--a Terrible Passing Inclination To Die Of It.