We Like To Have Work To Do,

There Is Mercy For Everyone, Except Those Who Are Bored With Life.

The World, The Future, Is Now Within You As Your Past, As Experience, Skill In Technique, And The Rich, Everlasting Mystery Is Found To Be Childish You That, At The Time, You Made No Effort To Possess.

We Never Remember Days, Only Moments.

All Our "most Sacred Affections " Are Merely Prosaic Habit.

The Problem Is Not The Harshness Of Fate, For Anything We Want Strongly Enough We Get. The Trouble Is Rather That When We Have It We Grow Sick Of It, And Then We Should Never Blame Fate, Only Our Own Desire.