Enthusiasm Is The Leaping Lightning, Not To

Every Man Is Wanted, And No Man Is Wanted Much.

If A Man Sits Down To Think, He Is Immediately Asked If He Has A Headache.

Nothing Is Dead: Men Feign Themselves Dead, And Endure Mock Funerals And Mournful Obituaries, And There They Stand Looking Out Ofthe Window, Sound And Well, In Some New And Strange Disguise.

Nature Abhors The Old.

We Are The Prisoners Of Ideas. They Catch Us Up For Moments Into Their Heaven, And So Fully Engage Us, That We Take No Thought Forthe Morrow, Gaze Like Children, Without An Effort To Make Them Our Own.