There Are Few Sorrows In Which A

The Mere Process Of Growing Old Together Will Make The Slightest Acquaintance Seem A Bosom Friend.

I Am One Of The Unpraised, Unrewarded Millions Without Whom Statistics Would Be A Bankrupt Science. It Is We Who Are Born, Who Marry, Who Die, In Constant Ratios.

A Best-seller Is The Gilded Tomb Of A Mediocre Talent

An Echo Of Music, A Face In The Street, The Wafer Of The New Moon, A Wanton Thought - Only In The Iridescence Of Things The Vagabond Soul Is Happy.

So, I Never Lose A Sense Of The Whimsical And Perilous Charm Of Daily Life, With Its Meetings And Words And Accidents.