Nothing That Is Can Pause Or Stay.

Time, Like A Preacher In The Days Of The Puritans, Turned The Hour-glass On His High Pulpit, The Church Belfry.

In The Life Of Every Man There Are Sudden Transitions Of Feeling, Which Seem Almost Miraculous. At Once, As If Some Magician Had Touched The Heavens And The Earth, The Dark Clouds Melt Into The Air, The Wind Falls, And Serenity Succeeds The Storm. The Causes Which Produce These Changes May Have Been Long At Work Within Us, But The Changes Themselves Are Instantaneous, And Apparently Without Sufficient Cause.

What Is Time? The Shadow On The Dial, The Striking Of The Clock, The Running Of The Sand, Day And Night, Summer And Winter, Months, Years, Centuries-these Are But Arbitrary And Outward Signs, The Measure Of Time, Not Time Itself. Time Is The Life Of The Soul.

Wondrous Strong Are The Spells Of Fiction.

The Rays Of Happiness, Like Those Of Light, Are Colorless When Unbroken.