As A Man Grows Older It Is

Man Has Here Two And A Half Minutes-one To Smile, One To Sigh, And A Half To Love: For In The Midst Of This Minute He Dies.

The Last, Best Fruit Which Comes To Late Perfection, Even In The Kindliest Soul, Is Tenderness Toward The Hard, Forbearance Toward The Unforbearing, Warmth Of Heart Toward The Cold, Philanthropy Toward The Misanthropic.

Like A Morning Dream, Life Becomes More And More Bright The Longer We Live, And The Reason Of Everything Appears More Clear. What Has Puzzled Us Before Seems Less Mysterious, And The Crooked Paths Look Straighter As We Approach The End.

Sleep, Riches, And Health, To Be Truly Enjoyed, Must Be Interrupted.

Our Birthdays Are Feathers In The Broad Wing Of Time.