Defeat May Be Victory In Disguise.

Fortune Comes Well To All That Comes Not Late.

Ne Speaketh Not; And Yet There Lies A Conversation In His Eyes.

No Action, Whether Foul Or Fair, Is Ever Done, But It Leaves Somewhere A Record, Written By Fingers Ghostly, As A Blessing Or A Curse, And Mostly In The Greater Weakness Or Greater Strength Of The Acts Which Follow It.

Tis Always Morning Somewhere.

Welcome, My Old Friend, Welcome To A Foreign Fireside.