The Coldest Word Was Once

Everywhere In Life, The True Question Is Not What We Gain, But What We Do.

Isolation Is The Sum Total Of Wretchedness To A Man.

Little Other Than A Red Tape Talking-machine, And Unhappy Bag Of Parliamentary Eloquence.

Considering The Multitude Of Mortals That Handle The Pen In These Days, And Can Mostly Spell, And Write Without Glaring Violations Of Grammar, The Question Naturally Arises: How Is It, Then, That No Work Proceeds From Them, Bearing Any Stamp Of Authenticity And Permanence; Of Worth For More Than One Day?

Man's Earthly Interests,'are All Hooked And Buttoned Together, And Held Up, By Clothes.