Once The State Is Looked

Anybody Who Has Ever Tried To Rectify An Injustice Or Set A Record Straight Comes To Feel That He Is Going Mad.

Laughter Is The Great Antidote For Self-pity, Maybe A Specific For The Malady, Yet Probably It Does Tend To Dry One's Feelings Out A Little, As If By Exposing Them To A Vigorous Wind.

Labor Is Work That Leaves No Trace Behind It When It Is Finished.

Venice Is The Worlds Unconscious: A Misers Glittering Hoard, Guarded By A Beast Whose Eyes Are Made Of White Agate, And By A Saint Who Is Really A Prince Who Has Just Slain A Dragon.

Is It Really So Difficult To Tell A Good Action From A Bad One? I Think One Usually Knows Right Away Or A Moment Afterward, In A Horrid Flash Of Regret.