To Have To Die Is A Distinction

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

Every Day Travels Toward Death; The Last Only Arrives At It.

In My Garden I Spend My Days, In My Library I Spend My Nights. My Interests Are Divided Between My Geraniums And My Books. With The Flower I Am In The Present; With The Book I Am In The Past.

Pleasure Has No Logic; It Never Treads In Its Own Footsteps.

The World Is Not So Much In Need Of New Thoughts As That When Thought Grows Old And Worn With Usage It Should, Like Current Coin, Be Called In, And, From The Mint Of Genius, Reissued Fresh And New.