I Play Better Tennis Because The Court

Nothing Gold Can Stay.

Evolution Is Like Walking On A Rolling Barrel. The Walker Isn't So Much Interested In Where The Barrel Is Going As He Is In Keeping On Top Of It.

The Line-storm Clouds Fly Tattered And Swift, The Road Is Forlorn All Day, Where A Myriad Snowy Quartz Stones Lift, And The Hoof-prints Vanish Away. The Roadside Flowers, Too Wet For The Bee, Expend Their Bloom In Vain. Come Over The Hills And Far With Me, And Be My Love In The Rain.

What Is Done Is Done For The Love Of It- Or Not Really Done At All.

Fortunately, We Don't Need To Know How Bad An Age Is. There Is Something We Can Always Be Doing Without Reference To How Good Or Bad The Age Is.