Of All The Things Which

All Men, If They Work Not As In The Great Taskmaster's Eye, Will Work Wrong, And Work Unhappily For Themselves And For You.

Out Of Eternity The New Day Is Born; Into Eternity At Night Will Return.

Blessed Is He Who Has Found His Work; Let Him Ask No Other Blessedness. He Has A Work, A Life-purpose... Get Your Happiness Out Of Your Work Or You Will Never Know What Real Happiness Is... Even In The Meanest Sorts Of Labour, The Whole Soul Of A Man Is Composed Into A Kind Of Real Harmony The Instant He Sets Himself To Work!

The Times Are Very Bad. Very Well, You Are There To Make Them Better.

With Respect To Duels, Indeed, I Have My Own Ideas. Few Things In This So Surprising World Strike Me With More Surprise. Two Little Visual Spectra Of Men, Hovering With Insecure Enough Cohesion In The Midst Of The Unfathomable, And To Dissolve Therein, At Any Rate, Very Soon, Make Pause At The Distance Of Twelve Paces Asunder; Whirl Around, And Simultaneously By The Cunningest Mechanism, Explode One Another Into Dissolution; And, Offhand, Become Air, And Non-extant--the Little Spitfires!