Wisely Improve The Present. It Is Thine.

Who Dares To Say That He Alone Has Found The Truth?

Oh, How Beautiful Is The Summer Night, Which Is Not Night, But A Sunless, Yet Unclouded, Day, Descending Upon Earth With Dews And Shadows And Refreshing Coolness! How Beautiful The Long Mild Twilight, Which, Like A Silver Clasp, Unites Today With Yesterday!

The Thoughts Of Youth Are Long, Long Thoughts

Very Hot And Still The Air Was, Very Smooth The Gliding River, Motionless The Sleeping Shadows.

The Lowest Ebb Is The Turn Of The Tide.