Each Lost Day Has Its Patron Saint!

Thiar Ain't No Sense In Gittin' Riled!

A Bird In The Hand Is A Certainty, But A Bird In The Bush May Sing.

Perhaps There Is No Gift Of Nature That Requires As Little Exertion On The Part Of The Owner As Personal Beauty. I Am Not Certain But That It Is This Very Absence Of Effort Which Excites Our Admiration.

The Dominant Expression Of A Child Is Gravity.

But Still When The Mists Of Doubt Prevail, And We Lie Becalmed By The Shores Of Age, We Hear From The Misty Troubled Shore The Voce Of Children Gone Before. Drawing The Soul To Its Anchorage.