None Of Us Suffers As Much As

We Are Adhering To Life Now With Our Last Muscle - The Heart.

When Autumn Shadows Throw Their Patterns Across The Land, They Are Not The Images Of Fragile, Dying Leaves, Not The Bared Arms Of Lofty Elms, Not Shadows Of A Fading Summer; But Swinging Shapes As Of Books Upon A Strap, Of Round And Square Boxes Held Under An Arm, Of Hurrying Little People Heading Towards The Nearest School.

The Priceless Galaxy Of Misinformation Called The Mind.

Destiny And History Are Untidy.

One's Life Is Peculiar To One's Own When One Has Invented It.