It Is Right Precious To Behold The

Old Gold Has A Civilizing Virtue Which New Gold Must Grow Old To Be Capable Of Secreting.

The Holy Supper Is Kept, Indeed, In Whatso We Share With Anothers Need; Not What We Give, But What We Share, For The Gift Without The Giver Is Bare; Who Gives Himself With His Alms Feeds Three, Himself, His Hungering Neighbor, And Me.

Incredulity Robs Us Of Many Pleasures, And Gives Us Nothing In Return.

Granting Our Wish Is One Of Fate's Saddest Jokes.

May Is A Pious Fraud Of The Almanac A Ghastly Parody Of Real Spring Shaped Out Of Snow And Breathed With Eastern Wind.