Three little birds in a row
Sat musing.
A man passed near that place.
Then did the little birds nudge each other.
They said, “He thinks he can sing.”
They threw back their heads to laugh.
With quaint countenances
They regarded him.
They were very curious,
Those three little birds in a row.
We can only see a short distance ahead, but we can see plenty there that needs to be done.
In an orchard there should be enough to eat, enough to lay up, enough to be stolen, and enough to rot on the ground.
Honesty is praised and starves.
(Probitas laudatur et alget)
On one of my birthdays I was given a toy printing-set with whose rubber letters I was able to print off my first composition. It was a story of a train going along very fast and, to the satisfaction of the passengers, racing through the samll stations along the track without stopping. Their satisfaction, however, turned to dismay, and then to panic fury, as it dawned on them that it was not going to stop at their stations either when it came to them. They raged and shouted and shook their fists, but all to no avail. The train went roaring on. At the time I had no notion what, if anything, the story signified. [...] Yet, as I came to see, and see now more clearly than ever, it is the story I have been writing ever since; the story of our time.
The world is content with setting right the surface of things.