Fools, When Their Roof-tree Falls, Think It

New Occasions Teach New Duties.

Idleness Induces Caprice.

Against The Windows The Storm Comes Dashing, Through Tattered Foliage The Hail Tears Crashing, The Blue Lightning Flashes, The Rapid Hail Clashes... The Thunder Is Rumbling And Crashing And Crumbling.

Beauty Hath No True Glass, Except It Be In The Sweet Privacy Of Loving Eyes.

The Future Works Out Great Men's Destinies; The Present Is Enough For Common Souls, Who, Never Looking Forward, Are Indeed Mere Clay Wherein The Footprints Of Their Age Are Petrified Forever.