A Cobweb Is As Good As The

Whoever Makes Home Seem To The Young Dearer And More Happy, Is A Public Benefactor.

Your Honors Here May Serve You For A Time, As It Were For An Hour, But They Will Be Of No Use To You Beyond This World. Nobody Will Have Heard A Word Of Your Honors In The Other Life. Your Glory, Your Shame, Your Ambitions, And All The Treasures For Which You Push Hard And Sacrifice Much Will Be Like Wreaths Of Smoke. For These Things, Which You Mostly Seek, And For Which You Spend Your Life Only Tarry With You While You Are On This Side Of The Flood.

Blessed Are They Who Know How To Shine On One's Gloom With Their Cheer.

Grim Care, Moroseness, Anxiety-all This Rust Of Life Ought To Be Scoured Off By The Oil Of Mirth. Mirth Is God's Medicine.

In This World, Full Often, Our Joys Are Only The Tender Shadows Which Our Sorrows Cast.