Joy Is The Best Of Wine.

The Years Between Fifty And Seventy Are The Hardest. You Are Always Being Asked To Do Things, And Yet You Are Not Decrepit Enough To Turn Them Down.

I Always Think The Flowers Can See Us, And Know What We Are Thinking About.

Fine Old Christmas, With The Snowy Hair And Ruddy Face, Had Done His Duty That Year In The Noblest Fashion, And Had Set Off His Rich Gifts Of Warmth And Color With All The Heightening Contrast Of Frost And Snow.

Whatever Be Thy Fate Today, Remember, This Will Pass Away!

What A Different Result One Gets By Changing The Metaphor!