I Cling To Nowhere Until I Fall

Fame Is A Fickle Food Upon A Shifting Plate.

Spring Is The Period Express From God. Among The Other Seasons Himself Abide, But During March And April None Stir Abroad Without A Cordial Interview With God.

Mirth Is The Mail Of Anguish --

The Vastest Earthly Day Is Shrunken Small By One Defaulting Face Behind A Pall.

The Soul Should Always Stand Ajar.