For The Sin They Do By Two

Funny How The New Things Are The Old Things.

Literature Is A Splendid Mistress, But A Bad Wife.

There Are Gems Of Wondrous Brightness Ofttimes Lying At Our Feet, And We Pass Them, Walking Thoughtless, Down The Busy, Crowded Street. If We Knew, Our Pace Would Slacken, We Would Step More Oft With Care, Lest Our Careless Feet Be Treading To The Earth Some Jewel Rare.

One Learns More From A Good Scholar In A Rage Than From A Score Of Lucid And Laborious Drudges.

At Two O'clock In The Morning, If You Open Your Window And Listen, You Will Hear The Feet Of The Wind That Is Going To Call The Sun. And The Trees In The Shadow Rustle And The Trees In The Moonlight Glisten, And Though It Is Deep, Dark Night, You Feel That The Night Is Done.