I Go Into My Library And All

Good-humor And, Generosity Carry Day With The Popular Heart All The World Over.

We Are Never Happy; We Can Only Remember That We Were So Once.

If You Wish To Preserve Your Secret, Wrap It Up In Frankness.

Looking Forward Into An Empty Year Strikes One With A Certain Awe, Because One Finds Therein No Recognition. The Years Behind Have A Friendly Aspect, And They Are Warmed By The Fires We Have Kindled, And All Their Echoes Are The Echoes Of Our Own Voices.

Happiness Never Lays Its Finger On Its Pulse. If We Attempt To Steal A Glimpse Of Its Features It Disappears.