Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us; The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in, The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us, We bargain for the graves we lie in; Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold... 'T is heaven alone that is given away, 'T is only God may be had for the asking; There is no price set on the lavish summer, And June may be had by the poorest comer.

Let us be of good cheer, however, remembering that the misfortunes hardest to bear are those which never come.

The idol is the measure of the worshipper.

Not what we give, but what we share, for the gift without the giver is bare.

Better one bite at forty, of truths bitter rind, than the hot wine that gushed from the vintage of twenty.

Attention is the stuff that memory is made of, and memory is accumulated genius.

My soul is not a palace of the past.