Thoughts Must Come Naturally, Like Wild-flowers; They

In My Garden, Care Stops At The Gate And Gazes At Me Wistfully Through The Bars.

In My Garden I Spend My Days, In My Library I Spend My Nights. My Interests Are Divided Between My Geraniums And My Books. With The Flower I Am In The Present; With The Book I Am In The Past.

There Is A Certain Even-handed Justice In Time; And For What He Takes Away He Gives Us Something In Return. He Robs Us Of Elasticity Of Limb And Spirit, And In Its Place He Brings Tranquility And Repose—the Mild Autumnal Weather Of The Soul.

The Discovery Of A Grey Hair When You Are Brushing Out Your Whiskers Of A Morning - First Fallen Flake Of The Coming Snows Of Age - Is A Disagreeable Thing.

Christmas Is The Day That Holds All Time Together.