The White Face Of The Winter Day

In The Destroyer's Steps There Spring Up Bright Creations That Defy His Power, And His Dark Path Becomes A Way Of Light To Heaven.

If They Would Rather Die, . . . They Had Better Do It, And Decrease The Surplus Population.

Recollections Of The Past And Visions Of The Present Come To Bear Me Company; The Meanest Man To Whom I Have Ever Given Alms Appears, To Add His Mite Of Peace And Comfort To My Stock; And Whenever The Fire Within Me Shall Grow Cold, To Light My Path Upon This Earth No More, I Pray That It May Be At Such An Hour As This, And When I Love The World As Well As I Do Now.

Poetry's Unnat'ral; No Man Ever Talked Poetry 'cept A Beadle On Boxin' Day, Or Warren's Blackin' Or Rowland's Oil, Or Some O' Them Low Fellows; Never You Let Yourself Down To Talk Poetry, My Boy.

Every Failure Teaches A Man Something, If He Will Learn; And You Are Too Sensible A Man Not To Learn From This Failure.