I Go To Books And

The Secret Of Happiness Is Something To Do.

Man Takes Root At His Feet, And At Best He Is No More Than A Potted Plant In His House Or Carriage Till He Has Established Communication With The Soil By The Loving And Magnetic Touch Of His Soles To It.

I Seldom Go Into A Natural History Museum Without Feeling As If I Were Attending A Funeral.

There Is Hardly A Man On Earth Who Will Take Advice Unless He Is Certain That It Is Positively Bad.

The Rocks Have A History; Gray And Weatherworn, They Are Veterans Of Many Battles; They Have Most Of Them Marched In The Ranks Of Vast Stone Brigades During The Ice Age; They Have Been Torn From The Hills, Recruited From The Mountaintops, And Marshaled On The Plains And In The Valleys; And Now The Elemental War Is Over, There They Lie Waging A Gentle But Incessant Warfare With Time And Slowly, Oh, So Slowly, Yielding To Its Attacks!