I Have The Happiness Of A Passing

And Why Should Any Man Who Writes, Even If He Writes Things Immortal, Nurse Anger At The World's Neglect? Who Asked Him To Publish? Who Promised Him A Hearing? Who Has Broken Faith With Him? Your Poem, Your Novel, Who Bargained With You For It?

One Of The Shining Moments Of My Day Is That When, Having Returned A Little Weary From An Afternoon Walk, I Exchange Boots For Slippers, Out-of-doors Coat For Easy, Familiar, Shabby Jacket, And, In My Deep, Soft-elbowed Chair, Await The Tea-tray.... [h]ow Delicious Is The Soft Yet Penetrating Odour Which Floats Into My Study, With The Appearance Of The Teapot!... What A Glow Does It Bring After A Walk In Chilly Rain!

Perhaps It Is While Drinking Tea That I Most Of All Enjoy The Sense Of Leisure.

Money Is Made At Christmas Out Of Holly And Mistletoe, But Who Save The Vendors Would Greatly Care If No Green Branch Were Procurable? One Symbol, Indeed, Has Obscured All Others-the Minted Round Of Metal. And One May Safely Say That, Of All The Ages Since A Coin First Became The Symbol Of Power, Ours Is That In Which It Yields To The Majority Of Its Possessors The Poorest Return In Heart's Contentment.

For The Man Sound Of Body And Serene Of Mind There Is No Such Thing As Bad Weather; Every Day Has Its Beauty, And Storms Which Whip The Blood Do But Make It Pulse More Vigorously.