And Why Should Any Man Who Writes,

In Nothing More Is The English Genius For Domesticity More Notably Declared Than In The Institution Of This Festival-almost One May Call It-of Afternoon Tea...the Mere Chink Of Cups And Saucers Tunes The Mind To Happy Repose.

For One Thing, I Know Every Book Of Mine By Its Scent.

Money Is Made At Christmas Out Of Holly And Mistletoe, But Who Save The Vendors Would Greatly Care If No Green Branch Were Procurable? One Symbol, Indeed, Has Obscured All Others-the Minted Round Of Metal. And One May Safely Say That, Of All The Ages Since A Coin First Became The Symbol Of Power, Ours Is That In Which It Yields To The Majority Of Its Possessors The Poorest Return In Heart's Contentment.

Time Is Money Says The Proverb, But Turn It Around And You Get A Precious Truth. Money Is Time.

The Truths Of Life Are Not Discovered By Us. At Moments Unforeseen, Some Gracious Influence Descends Upon The Soul, Touching It To An Emotion Which, We Know Not How, The Mind Transmutes Into Thought.