The Earth Is Mostly Just A Boneyard.

The Lives Of Happy People Are Dense With Their Own Doings -- Crowded, Active, Thick. But The Sorrowing Are Nomads, On A Plain With Few Landmarks And No Boundaries; Sorrow's Horizons Are Vague And Its Demands Are Few.

He Had Known Several Men Who Blew Their Heads Off, And He Had Pondered It Much. It Seemed To Him It Was Probably Because They Could Not Take Enough Happiness Just From The Sky And The Moon To Carry Them Over The Low Feelings That Came To All Men.

Nothing Good Ever Comes Without A Price.

I Suppose You Set Up Reading The Good Book All Night-spoken By Woodrow Call

Call Saw That Everyone Was Looking At Him, The Hands And Cowboys And Townspeople Alike. The Anger Had Drained Out Of Him, Leaving Him Feeling Tired. He Didn't Remember The Fight, Particularly, But People Were Looking At Him As If They Were Stunned. He Felt He Should Make Some Explanation, Though It Seemed To Him A Simple Situation. "i Hate A Man That Talks Rude," He Said. "i Won't Tolerate It.