A Thought May Be Very

We Twain Have Met Like The Ships Upon The Sea, Who Behold An Hour's Converse, So Short, So Sweet: One Little Hour! And Then, Away They Speed On Lonely Paths, Through Mist, And Cloud, And Foam, To Meet No More.

I Go Into My Library And All History Unrolls Before Me.

A Bottomless Pit Of Violence, A Tower Of Babel Where All Are Speakers And No Hearers.

Good-humor And, Generosity Carry Day With The Popular Heart All The World Over.

To Sit For One's Portrait Is Like Being Present At One's Own Creation.