The Will Is Always Near, Dear, Though

Inebriate Of Air Am I, And Debauchee Of Dew, Reeling, Through Endless Summer Days, From Inns Of Molten Blue.

I Do Not Like The Man Who Squanders Life For Fame; Give Me The Man Who Living Makes A Name.

Forever Is Made Up Of Nows.

It Is Better To Be The Hammer Than The Anvil.

The Lovely Flowers Embarrass Me. They Make Me Regret I Am Not A Bee.