If We Meet No Gods, It Is

Beauty Is The Pilot Of The Young Soul.

Everything In The Universe Goes By Indirection. There Are No Straight Lines.

My Son, A Perfect Little Boy Of Five Years And Three Months, Had Ended His Earthly Life. You Can Never Sympathize With Me; You Can Never Know How Much Of Me Such A Young Child Can Take Away. A Few Weeks Ago I Accounted Myself A Very Rich Man, And Now The Poorest Of All.

Happiness Is A Perfume You Cannot Pour On Others Without Getting Some On Yourself.

My Good Hoe As It Bites The Ground Revenges My Wrongs, And I Have Less Lust To Bite My Enemies. In The Smoothing The Rough Hillocks, I Smooth My Temper.