I cut my own hair. I got sick of barbers because they talk too much. And too much of their talk was about my hair coming out.

The only way out is through.

Tolerance is the uncomfortable feeling that in the end the other could be right.

More men die of worry than of work, because more men worry than work.

The way a crow Shook down on me The dust of snow From a hemlock tree Has given my heart A change of mood And saved some part Of a day I had rued.

I never knew what was meant by choice of words. It was one word or none.

Something sinister in the tone Told me my secret must be known: Word I was in the house alone Somehow must have gotten abroad, Word I was in my life alone, Word I had no one left but God.