We Let Our Blessings Get

Do Not Give, As Many Rich Men Do, Like A Hen That Lays Her Eggs ...and Then Cackles.

This World Is Not A Platform Where You Will Hear Thalberg-piano-playing. It Is A Piano Manufactory, Where Are Dust And Shavings And Boards, And Saws And Files And Rasps And Sandpapers. The Perfect Instrument And The Music Will Be Hereafter.

In The Morning, We Carry The World Like Atlas; At Noon, We Stoop And Bend Beneath It; And At Night, It Crushes Us Flat To The Ground.

The Sun Does Not Shine For A Few Trees And Flowers, But For The Wide World's Joy.

Love Is The Wine Of Existence.