No memory of having starred atones for later disregard, or keeps the end from being hard.

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

The artist in me cries out for design.

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.

But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.

But not gold in commercial quantities, Just enough gold to make the engagement rings And marriage rings of those who owned the farm. What gold more innocent could one have asked for?

The only way around is through.