But I, When I Undress Me Each

What Smells So? Has Somebody Been Burning A Rag, Or Is There A Dead Mule In The Back Yard? No, The Man Is Smoking A Five-cent Cigar.

No Book Can Be Appreciated Until It Has Been Slept With And Dreamed Over.

Used To Think That Luck Wuz Luck And Nuthin' Else But Luck-- It Made No Diff'rence How Or When Or Where Or Why It Struck; But Sev'ral Years Ago I Changt My Mind, An' Now Proclaim That Luck's A Kind Uv Science--same As Any Other Game.

All Human Joys Are Swift Of Wing, For Heaven Doth So Allot It; That When You Get An Easy Thing, You Find You Haven't Got It

Ideas Came With Explosive Immediacy, Like An Instant Birth. Human Thought Is Like A Monstrous Pendulum; It Keeps Swinging From One Extreme To The Other.