How frugal is the chariot that bears a human soul.

This is my letter to the world That never wrote to me

a sick room is at times too sacred a place for a friend's knock, timid as that is.

The bustle in a house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth,-- The sweeping up the heart, And putting love away We shall not want to use again Until eternity

There is a pain so utter, it swallows being up; The covers the abyss with a trance So memory can step around, across, upon it.

If you take care of the small things, the big things take care of themselves. You can gain more control over your life by paying closer attention to the little things.

How happy is the little stone That rambles in the road alone, And doesn't care about careers, And exigencies never fears; Whose coat of elemental brown A passing universe put on; And independent as the sun, Associates or glows alone, Fulfilling absolute decree In casual simplicity.