The Flower And Fruit Of Love Are

Truth Is Far And Flat, And Fancy Is Fiery; And Truth Is Cold, And People Feel The Cold, And They May Wrap Themselves Against It In Fancies That Are Fiery, But They Should Not Call Them Facts; And, Generally, Poets Do Not; They Are Shrewd, They Feel The Cold, Too, But They Know A Hawk From A Handsaw, A Fact From A Fancy, As None Knows Better.

I Love People, But I Love The Thought And Memory Of Them Just As Much.

You Must Have Some Money If You Are Going To Live Simply. It Need Not Be Much, But You Must Have Some.

Youth Is An Arithmetical Statement Of Passing Interest, Each Hour Eats It Up.

These Thoughts Are Depressing I Know. They Are Depressing, I Wish I Was More Cheerful, It Is More Pleasant, Also It Is A Duty, We Should Smile As Well As Submitting To The Purpose Of One Above Who Is Experimenting With Various Mixtures Of Human Character Which Goes Best, All Is Interesting For Him It Is Exciting, But Not For Us. There I Go Again. Smile, Smile, And Get Some Work To Do Then You Will Be Practically Unconscious Without Positively Having To Go.