In The Gain Or Loss Of One

No Man Is Born Into The World Whose Work Is Not Born With Him. There Is Always Work, And Tools To Work Withal, For Those Who Will; And Blessed Are The Horny Hands Of Toil.

Ah, In This World, Where Every Guiding Thread Ends Suddenly In The One Sure Centre, Death, The Visionary Hand Of Might-have-been Alone Can Fill Desire's Cup To The Brim!

To Win The Secret Of A Weed's Plain Heart.

All Thoughts That Mold The Age Begin Deep Down Within The Primitive Soul.

It Is Curious How Tyrannical The Habit Of Reading Is...