Next time!' In what calendar are kept the records of those next times which never come?

Nothing can be so bad as to be displeased with one's self.

The wild mustard in Southern California is like that spoken of in the New Testament. . . . Its gold is as distinct a value to the eye as the nugget gold is in the pocket.

O sweet, delusive Noon, Which the morning climbs to find, O moment sped too soon, And morning left behind.

Most men call fretting a minor fault, a foible, and not a vice. There is no vice except drunkenness which can so utterly destroy the peace, the happiness of a hoe.

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.

Who longest wait of all surely wins.