The One Universal Form Of Art Is

One Of The Dreariest Spots On Life's Road Is The Point Of Conviction That Nothing Will Ever Again Happen To You.

Gratitude Is A Humble Emotion. It Expresses Itself In A Thousand Ways, From A Sincere Thank You To Friend Or Stranger, To The Mute, Up-reaching Acknowledgment To God--not For The Gifts Of This Day Only, But For The Day Itself; Not For What We Believe Will Be Ours In The Future, But For The Bounty Of The Past.

I See Now How Things Even Up, How They Are Squared Away, And How They Balance Under The Law Of Love And Justice. No Year Of Life Is Emotionally, Spiritually Or Even Materially, All Drought Or All Rainfall; Nor Is It All Sun. The Road Turns A Little Every Day, And One Day There's A Sudden Twist We Didn't Dream Was There, And For Every Loss There Is Somewhere A Gain, For Every Grief A Happiness, For Every Deprivation A Giving.

I've Always Thought That The Most Perfect Fate Which Could Befall Any Woman Would Be To Be Born A Rich Widow.

There's Nothing Like Fishing To Pass The Time And To Incline Toward A Sort Of Magnificent Stupidity In Which Nothing Matters But Tackle, Bait, Sunlight And The Strike.