Not knowing when the dawn will come, I open every door. >>
After great pain, a formal feeling comes. The Nerves sit ceremonious, >>
Of Consciousness, her awful Mate. The Soul cannot be rid -- as easy th >>
The worst cynicism: a belief in luck. >>
A pound of pluck is worth a ton of luck. >>
Luck is the idol of the idle. >>
Luck is not chance, it is toil. Fortune is expensive smile is earned.