Forty Is The Old Age Of Youth;

If A Writer Wrote Merely For His Time, I Would Have To Break My Pen And Throw It Away.

So Your Desire Is To Do Nothing? Well, You Shall Not Have A Week, A Day, An Hour, Free From Oppression. You Shall Not Be Able To Lift Anything Without Agony. Every Passing Minute Will Make Your Muscles Crack. What Is Feather To Others Will Be A Rock To You. The Simplest Things Will Become Difficult. Life Will Become Monstrous About You. To Come, To Go, To Breathe, Will Be So Many Terrible Tasks For You. Your Lungs Will Feel Like A Hundred-pound Weight.

A House Is Built Of Logs And Stone, Of Tiles And Posts And Piers; A Home Is Built Of Loving Deeds That Stand A Thousand Years.

I Dislike Wealth And Prosperity, Especially That Of Other Men.

The Cruel Of Heart Have Their Own Black Happiness.