That day she put our heads together, Fate had her imagination about her, Your head so much concerned with outer, Mine with inner, weather.

He thought that I was after him for a feather--- The white one in his tail: like one who takes everything said as personal to himself.

For, dear me, why abandon a belief, Merely because it ceases to be true, Cling to it long enough, and not a doubt, It will turn true again, for so it goes.

The reason why worry kills more people than work is that more people worry than work.

Style is less the man than the way a man takes himself.

Don't join too many gangs. Join few if any. Join the United States and join the family- But not much in between unless a college.

For dear me, why abandon a belief Merely because it ceases to be true