If childhood is still a state, it is now chiefly a state of confusion.

It is the leisured, I have noticed, who rebel the most at an interruption of routine.

Gardening has compensations out of all proportion to its goals. It is creation in the pure sense.

O, merry is the Optimist, With the troops of courage leaguing. But a dour trend In any friend Is somehow less fatiguing.

It's hard / Keeping up with the avant-garde.

Seventy is wormwood, Seventy is gall But its better to be seventy, Than not alive at all.

One applauds the industry of professional philanthropy. But it has its dangers. After a while the private heart begins to harden. We fling letters into the wastebasket, are abrupt to telephoned solicitations. Charity withers in the incessant gale.