I wish to become rich, so that I can instruct the people and glorify honest poverty a little, like those kind hearted, fat, benevolent people do.

So I became a newspaperman. I hated to do it but I couldnt find honest employment.

In my nostrils still lives the breath of flowers that perished twenty years ago.

That is a simple rule, and easy to remember. When I, a thoughtful and unblessed Presbyterian, examine the Koran, I know that beyond any question every Mohammedan is insane; not in all things, but in religious matters.

Against a diseased imagination demonstration goes for nothing.

Greece is a bleak, unsmiling desert, without agriculture, manufactures or commerce, apparently. What supports its poverty-stricken people or its Government, is a mystery.

I do not know what we should do without the pulpit. We could better spare the sun-the moon, anyway.