Not Even Nothingness Preceded Life. Nothingness Owes

I Only Know When I Don't Know A Thing. My Uncle Has Taught Me That Wisdom Lies In That.

For When Is The Child The Ideal Child In Our Eyes And To Our Hearts? Is It Not When With Gentle Hand He Takes His Father By The Beard, And Turns That Father's Face Up To His Brothers And Sisters To Kiss? When Even The Lovely Selfishness Of Love-seeking Has Vanished, And The Heart Is Absorbed In Loving?

Things Come To The Poor That Can't Get In At The Door Of The Rich. Their Money Somehow Blocks It Up. It Is A Great Privilege To Be Poor--one That No Man Covets, And Brat A Very Few Have Sought To Retain, But One That Yet Many Have Learned To Prize.

It Is By Loving And Not By Being Loved That One Can Come Nearest To The Soul Of Another.

We Die Daily. Happy Those Who Daily Come To Life As Well.