Happiness Comes The Way The Wind Blows.

I Was Lying, But I Wanted To Rouse Him. I Have An Inborn Urge To Contradict; My Whole Life Has Been A Mere Chain Of Sad And Futile Opposition To The Dictates Of Either Heart Or Reason. The Presence Of An Enthusiast Makes Me As Cold As A Midwinter's Day, And, I Believe, Frequent Association With A Listless Phlegmatic Would Make Me An Impassioned Dreamer.

I Want To Reconcile Myself With Heaven, I Want To Love, I Want To Pray, I Want To Believe In Good.

He In His Madness Prays For Storms, And Dreams That Storms Will Bring Him Peace.

Of Two Friends, One Is Always The Slave Of The Other, Although Frequently Neither Acknowledges The Fact To Himself.

No Good Ever Becomes Of A Man Who Forgets An Old Friend