The Sea Complains Upon A Thousand Shores.

One Never Hugs One's Good Luck So Affectionately As When Listening To The Relation Of Some Horrible Misfortunes Which Has Overtaken Others.

In The Entire Circle Of The Year There Are No Days So Delightful As Those Of A Fine October.

We Have Two Lives; The Soul Of Man Is Like The Rolling World, One Half In Day, The Other Dipt In Night; The One Has Music And The Flying Cloud, The Other, Silence And The Wakeful Stars.

My Friend Is Not Perfect-no More Than I Am-and So We Suit Each Other Admirable.

Trees Are Your Best Antiques