Balder The Beautiful Is Dead, Is Dead!

I Love The Season Well When Forest Glades Are Teeming With Bright Forms, Nor Dark And Many-folded Clouds Foretell The Coming Of Storms.

How Can I Teach Your Children Gentleness And Mercy To The Weak, And Reverence For Life, Which In Its Nakedness And Excess, Is Still A Gleam Of God's Omnipotence, When By Your Laws, Your Actions And Your Speech, You Contradict The Very Things I Teach?

Give What You Have. To Some One, It May Be Better Than You Dare To Think.

Wisely Improve The Present. It Is Thine.

To Be Seventy Years Old Is Like Climbing The Alps. You Reach A Snow-crowned Summit, And See Behind You The Deep Valley Stretching Miles And Miles Away, And Before You Other Summits Higher And Whiter, Which You May Have Strength To Climb, Or May Not. Then You Sit Down And Meditate And Wonder Which It Will Be.