Death Is The Dropping Of The Flower,

Next To Victory, There Is Nothing So Sweet As Defeat, If Only The Right Adversary Overcomes You.

Maple-trees Are The Cows Of Trees (spring-milked).

Grim Care, Moroseness, Anxiety-all This Rust Of Life Ought To Be Scoured Off By The Oil Of Mirth. Mirth Is God's Medicine.

The God Of The Bible Is A Moral Monstrosity.

Every Green Thing Loves To Die In Bright Colors. The Vegetable Cohorts March Glowing Out Of The Year In Flaming Dresses, As If To Leave This Earth Were A Triumph And Not A Sadness. It Is Never Nature That Is Sad, But Only We, That Dare Not Look Back On The Past, And That Have Not Its Prophecy Of The Future In Our Bosoms.