The Only Way Round Is Through.

The Rain To The Wind Said, You Push And I'll Pelt.' They So Smote The Garden Bed That The Flowers Actually Knelt, And Lay Lodged--though Not Dead. I Know How The Flowers Felt.

The Fact Is The Sweetest Dream That Labor Knows.

Keep All Ur Troubles In Ur Own Pocket. But, Make Sure That The Pocket Has A Hole!

Heaven Gives Its Glimpses Only To Those Not In Position To Look Too Close.

Now No Joy But Lacks Salt That Is Not Dashed With Pain And Weariness And Fault; I Crave The Stain Of Tears, The Aftermark Of Almost Too Much Love, The Sweet Of Bitter Bark And Burning Clove.