All Is Born Of Water; All Is

Forget Not That The Man Who Cannot Enjoy His Own Natural Gifts In Silence, And Find His Reward In The Exercise Of Them, Will Generally Find Himself Badly Off.

Our Destiny Often Looks Like A Fruit-tree In Winter. Who Would Think From Its Pitiable Aspect That Those Rigid Boughs, Those Rough Twigs Could Next Spring Again Be Green, Bloom, And Even Bear Fruit? Yet We Hope It, We Know It.

Mannerism Is Always Longing To Have Done, And Has No True Enjoyment In Work. A Genuine, Really Great Talent, On The Other Hand, Has Its Greatest Happiness In Execution.

A Vi'let On The Meadow Grew, That No One Saw, That No One Knew, It Was A Modest Flower. A Shepherdess Pass'd By That Way-- Light Footed, Pretty And So Gay; That Way She Came, Softly Warbling Forth Her Lay.

Time Flies, And What Is Past Is Done.