Chance Is But The Pseudonym Of God

Works Of Imagination Should Be Written In Very Plain Language; The More Purely Imaginative They Are The More Necessary It Is To Be Plain.

A Wild Rose Roofs The Ruined Shed, And That And Summer Well Agree.

How Strange And Awful Is The Synthesis Of Life And Death In The Gusty Winds And Falling Leaves Of An Autumnal Day!

The Curiosity Of An Honorable Mind Willingly Rests There, Where The Love Of Truth Does Not Urge It Farther Onward, And The Love Of Its Neighbor Bids It Stop; In Other Words, It Willingly Stops At The Point Where The Interests Of Truth Do Not Beckon It Onward, And Charity Cries, Halt!

'tis A Month Before The Month Of May, And The Spring Comes Slowly Up This Way.