Books Are Sepulchres Of Thought.

The Day Is Dark And Cold And Dreary; It Rains, And The Wind Is Never Weary.

A Noble Type Of Good. Heroic Womanhood.

And The Bright Faces Of My Young Companions Are Wrinkled Like My Own, Or Are No More.

Don Quixote Thought He Could Have Made Beautiful Bird-cages And Toothpicks If His Brain Had Not Been So Full Of Ideas Of Chivalry. Most People Would Succeed In Small Things If They Were Not Troubled With Great Ambitions.

Sail Forth Into The Sea Of Life, O Gentle, Loving, Trusting Wife, And Safe From All Adversity Upon The Bosom Of That Sea Thy Comings And Thy Goings Be! For Gentleness And Love And Trust Prevail O'er Angry Wave And Gust; And In The Wreck Of Noble Lives Something Immortal Still Survives.