Strange how few, After alls said and done, the things that are Of moment.

Stranger, pause and look; From the dust of ages Lift this little book, Turn the tattered pages, Read me, do not let me die! Search the fading letters finding Steadfast in the broken binding All that once was I!

Father, I beg of Thee a little task To dignify my days, 'tis all I ask.

Euclid alone Has looked on Beauty bare. Fortunate they Who, though once only and then but far away, Have heard her massive sandal set on stone.

There isn't a train I wouldn't take, no matter where it's going.

pity me that the heart is slow to learn what the swift mind beholds at every turn.

No one but Night, with tears on her dark face, watches beside me in this windy place.