Tomorrow Is No Man's Gift.

The Music Throbbed In A Voice Of Singular And Delicate Power; The Air Was Resonant With Melody, Love And Pain. The Meanest Italian In The Gallery Far Up Beneath The Ceiling, The Most Exalted Of The Land In The Boxes And The Stalls, Leaned Indulgently Forward, To Be Swept By This Sweet Storm Of Song.

That Which Is Loved May Pass, But Love Hath No End.

There Is No Influence Like The Influence Of Habit.

But Paying Is Part Of The Game Of Life: It Is The Joy Of Buying That We Crave.

Nothing Is So Unproductive As The Law. It Is Expensive Whether You Win Or Lose.