Indeed I Have Always Found That The

What We Call Creative Work, Ought Not To Be Called Work At All, Because It Isn't. I Imagine That Thomas Edison Never Did A Day's Work In His Last Fifty Years.

The Lord Said 'let There Be Wheat' And Saskatchewan Was Born

Humour In Its Highest Reach Mingles With Pathos: It Voices Sorrow For Our Human Lot And Reconciliation With It.

How Strange It Is, Our Little Procession Of Life! The Child Says, "when I Am A Big Boy." But What Is That? The Big Boy Says, "when I Grow Up." And Then, Grown Up, He Says, "when I Get Married." But To Be Married, What Is That After All? The Thought Changes To "when I'm Able To Retire." And Then, When Retirement Comes, He Looks Back Over The Landscape Traversed; A Cold Wind Seems To Sweep Over It; Somehow He Has Missed It All, And It Is Gone.

A Lone Maple Leaf Resting On Sand Have You Ever Been Out For A Late Autumn Walk In The Closing Part Of The Afternoon, And Suddenly Looked Up To Realize That The Leaves Have Practically All Gone? And The Sun Has Set And The Day Gone Before You Knew It, And With That A Cold Wind Blows Across The Landscape? That's Retirement.