What Else Remains For Me? Youth, Hope

He Looks The Whole World In The Face For He Owes Not Any Man.

It Has Done Me Good To Be Somewhat Parched By The Heat And Drenched By The Rain Of Life.

There Is Nothing Perfectly Secure But Poverty.

Time Has Laid His Hand Upon My Heart, Gently, Not Smiting It, But As A Harper Lays His Open Palm Upon His Harp, To Deaden Its Vibrations.

Time Is The Life Of The Soul.