I like to think that when I fall, A rain-drop in Death's shoreless sea, This shelf of books along the wall, Beside my bed, will mourn for me.

Write verse, not poetry. The public wants verse. If you have a talent for poetry, then don't by any means mother it, but try your hand at verse.

It isn't the mountain ahead that wears you out; it's the grain of sand in your shoe.

Our breath is brief, and being so Let's make our heaven here below, And lavish kindness as we go.

Be sure your wisest words are those you do not say.

It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones who win in the lifelong race.

Carry on! Carry on! Fight the good fight and true; Believe in you mission, greet life with a cheer.