Fortune Is The Rod Of The Weak,

Not A Change For The Better In Our Human Housekeeping Has Ever Taken Place That Wise And Good Men Have Not Opposed It-have Not Prophesied That The World Would Wake Up To Find Its Throat Cut In Consequence.

Life Is The Jailer, Death The Angel Sent To Draw The Unwilling Bolts And Set Us Free.

The Nunneries Of Silent Nooks, The Murmured Longing Of The Wood.

Where One Person Shapes Their Life By Precept And Example, There Are A Thousand Who Have Shaped It By Impulse And Circumstances.

If Youth Be A Defect, It Is One That We Outgrow Only Too Soon.