The Darkness Of Death Is Like The

A Man Never Discloses His Own Character So Clearly As When He Describes Anothers.

Gray Hairs Seem To My Fancy Like The Soft Light Of The Moon, Silvering Over The Evening Of Life.

Poverty Is The Only Load Which Is The Heavier The More Loved Ones There Are To Assist In Bearing It.

It Is Not Great, But Little Good-haps That Make Up Happiness.

The Last, Best Fruit Which Comes To Late Perfection, Even In The Kindliest Soul, Is Tenderness Toward The Hard, Forbearance Toward The Unforbearing, Warmth Of Heart Toward The Cold, Philanthropy Toward The Misanthropic.