Aspirations pure and high —

O golden Silence, bid our souls be still, And on the foolish fretting of our care Lay thy soft touch of healing unaware!

Come, blessed Darkness, come and bring thy balm For eyes grown weary of the garish day! Come with thy soft, slow steps, thy garments gray, Thy veiling shadows, bearing in thy palm The poppy-seeds of slumber, deep and calm.

What dost thou bring to me, O fair To-day, That comest o'er the mountains with swift feet?

Riches is not what we have, but what we enjoy.

Poverty is not the fault of the poor. It is the fault of a system that allows idleness at the top and starvation at the bottom.

I feel very sad, as though I had not a friend in the world.... A man is nowhere without money.... People care little about you without money.... People talk terribly. We find that we have but few friends left ... I feel sad and constantly …