Do Not Forget, Some Give Little, And

There Are Some People Who Cannot Help Giving. Why? Because They Experience A Real Psychological Pleasure In Doing So. They Don't Do It With An Eye To Their Own Advantage, They Do It On The Quiet; They Detest Doing It Openly Because That Would Take Away Some Of The Satisfaction. They Do It In Secret, With Quick Trembling Hands, Their Breasts Rocked By A Spiritual Well Being Which They Do Not Themselves Understand.

Were I More Conversant With Literature And Its Great Names, I Could Go On Quoting Them Ad Infinitum And Acknowledge My Debt For The Merit You Have Been Generous Enough To Find In My Work

But Now It Was Spring Again, And Spring Was Almost Unbearable For Sensitive Hearts. It Drove Creation To Its Utmost Limits, It Wafted Its Spice-laden Breath Even Into The Nostrils Of The Innocent.

When Good Befalls A Man He Calls It Providence, When Evil Fate.

Rather Than Admire The Mediocre Great Men Over Whom Passersby Nudge Each Other In Awe, I Venerate The Young, Unknown Geniuses Who Die In Their Teens, Their Souls Shattered - Delicate, Phosphorescent Glowworms That One Must See To Know They Really Did Exist.