Throw the lumber over, man! Let your boat of life be light, packed with only what you need—a
homely home and simple pleasures, one or two friends, worth the name, someone to love and
someone to love you, a cat, a dog, and a pipe or two, enough to eat and enough to wear, and a
little more than enough to drink; for thirst is a dangerous thing.
You will find the boat easier to pull then, and it will not be so liable to upset, and it will not
matter so much if it does upset; good, plain merchandise will stand water. You will have time to
think as well as to work. Time to drink in life's sunshine—time to listen to the Æolian music that
the wind of God draws from the human heart-strings around us—time to—
I beg your pardon, really. I quite forgot.