Jealousy dislikes the world to know it.

And if I laugh at any mortal thing, 'Tis that I may not weep.

In the desert a fountain is springing, In the wide waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing, Which speaks to my spirit of thee

Now I shall go to sleep. Goodnight.

Oh, nature's noblest gift, my grey goose quill, Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will, Torn from the parent bird to form a pen, That mighty instrument of little men.

Good work and joyous play go hand in hand. When play stops, old age begins. Play keeps you from taking life too seriously.

I am so convinced of the advantages of looking at mankind instead of reading about them, . . . that I think there should be a law amongst us to set our young men abroad for a term among the few allies our wars have left us.