I Consider A Story Merely As A

There Is Something Nobly Simple And Pure In A Taste For The Cultivation Of Forest Trees. It Argues, I Think, A Sweet And Generous Nature To Have His Strong Relish For The Beauties Of Vegetation, And This Friendship For The Hardy And Glorious Sons Of The Forest. He Who Plants A Tree Looks Forward To Future Ages, And Plants For Posterity. Nothing Could Be Less Selfish Than This.

They Who Drink Beer Will Think Beer.

The Tongue Is The Only Instrument That Gets Sharper With Use.

A Kind Heart Is A Fountain Of Gladness, Making Everything In Its Vicinity Freshen Into Smiles.

There Is A Sacredness In Tears