One Who Can See Without

History Of Ireland--lawlessness And Turbulency, Robbery And Oppression, Hatred And Revenge, Blind Selfishness Everywhere--no Principle, No Heroism. What Can Be Done With It?

Pluck Not The Wayside Flower; It Is The Traveler's Dower.

A Man Who Keeps A Diary Pays, Due Toll To Many Tedious Days; But Life Becomes Eventful—then, His Busy Hand Forgets The Pen. Most Books, Indeed, Are Records Less Of Fulness Than Of Emptiness.

I Believe In Success, And In Comfort No Less I Believe All The Rest Is But Patter.

Tantarrara! The Joyous Book Of Spring Lies Open, Writ In Blossoms.