Oh, How Short Are The Days! How

No Literature Is Complete Until The Language It Was Written In Is Dead.

Welcome, Disappointment! Thy Hand Is Cold And Hard, But It Is The Hand Of A Friend. Thy Voice Is Stern And Harsh, But It Is The Voice Of A Friend. Oh, There Is Something Sublime In Calm Endurance, Something Sublime In The Resolute, Fixed Purpose Of Suffering Without Complaining, Which Makes Disappointment Oftentimes Better Than Success!

It Is The Heart And Not The Brain, That To The Highest Doth Attain.

Through Woods And Mountain Passes The Winds, Like Anthems, Roll.

The Holiest Of Holidays Are Those Kept By Ourselves In Silence And Apart; The Secret Anniversaries Of The Heart.