The Green Grass Floweth Like A Stream

Truth, After All, Wears A Different Face To Everybody, And It Would Be Too Tedious To Wait Till All Were Agreed. She Is Said To Lie At The Bottom Of A Well, For The Very Reason, Perhaps, That Whoever Looks Down In Search Of Her Sees His Own Image At The Bottom, And Is Persuaded Not Only That He Has Seen The Goddess, But That She Is Far Better Looking Than He Had Imagined.

The Ultimate Result Of Protecting Fools From Their Folly Is To Fill The Planet Full Of Fools.

To Be Young Is Surely The Best, If The Most Precarious, Gift Of Life.

Reading Chaucer Is Like Brushing Through The Dewy Grass At Sunrise.

They Talk About Their Pilgrim Blood, Their Birthright High And Holy! A Mountain-stream That Ends In Mud Thinks Is Melancholy.