Judge Tenderly Of Me.

Not To Discover Weakness Is The Artifice Of Strength.

We Do Not Play On Graves— Because There Isn't Room— Besides—it Isn't Even—it Slants And People Come— And Put A Flower On It— And Hang Their Faces So— We're Fearing That Their Hearts Will Drop— And Crush Our Pretty Play— And So We Move As Far As Enemies—away— Just Looking Round To See How Far It Is—occasionally—

Old Age Comes On Suddenly, And Not Gradually As Is Thought.

That It Will Never Come Again Is What Makes Life Sweet.

Find Ecstasy In Life; The Mere Sense Of Living Is Joy Enough.