There Is Something Nobly Simple And Pure

When Friends Grow Cold, And The Converse Of Intimates Languishes Into Vapid Civility And Commonplace, These Only Continue The Unaltered Countenance Of Happier Days, And Cheer Us With That True Friendship Which Never Deceived Hope, Nor Deserted Sorrow.

The Scholar Only Knows How Dear These Silent, Yet Eloquent, Companions Of Pure Thoughts And Innocent Hours Become In The Season Of Adversity. When All That Is Worldly Turns To Dross Around Us, These Only Retain Their Steady Value.

A Father May Turn His Back On His Child, Brothers And Sisters May Become Inveterate Enemies, Husbands May Desert Their Wives, Wives Their Husbands. But A Mother's Love Endures Through All; In Good Repute, In Bad Repute, In The Face Of The World's Condemnation, A Mother Still Loves On, And Still Hopes That Her Child May Turn From His Evil Ways, And Repent; Still She Remembers The Infant Smiles That Once Filled Her Bosom With Rapture, The Merry Laugh, The Joyful Shout Of His Childhood, The Opening Promise Of His Youth; And She Can Never Be Brought To Think Him All Unworthy.

After A Man Passes 60 , His Mischief Is Mainly In His Head

Jealous People Poison Their Own Banquet And Then Eat It