Nobody Ever Intends To Be Old.

Religion Is Poetry, - Poetry Is Religion.

It Seems A Silly Kind O' Business To Bring Us Into The World At All For No Special Reason 'cept To Take Us Out Of It Again Just As Folks 'ave Learned To Know Us A Bit And Find Us Useful.

Fame, Or Notoriety, Whichever That Special Noise May Be Called When The World Like A Hound 'gives Tongue' And Announces That The Quarry In Some Form Of Genius Is At Bay, Is Apt To Increase Its Clamor In Proportion To The Aloofness Of The Pursued Animal.

There Is No Death,/what Seems So Is Transition.

Nothing Gives Small Minds A Better Handle For Hatred Than Superiority.