I have a hundred times wished that one could resign life as an officer resigns a commission.

But Mousie, thou art no thy lane In proving foresight may be vain The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft agley An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain For promis'd joy!

Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.--Robert Burns

Some books are lies frae end to end.

Then gently scan your brother man, Still gentler sister woman; Though they may gang a kennin' wrang, To step aside is human.

I love drinking now and then. It defecates the standing pool of thought. A man perpetually in the paroxysm and fears of inebriety is like a half-drowned stupid wretch condemned to labor unceasingly in water; but a now-and-then tribute to Bacchus is like the cold bath, bracing and invigorating.

Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white-then melts for ever . . .