Autumn's The Mellow Time.

Does Not The Latent Feeling That Much Of Their Striving Is To No Purpose Tend To Infuse Large Quantities Of Sham Into Men's Work?

The Mother's Kiss Is The Sweetest Thing Ever.

Pluck Not The Wayside Flower; It Is The Traveler's Dower.

I Have Been An "official" All My Life, Without The Least Turn For It. I Never Could Attain A True Official Manner, Which Is Highly Artificial And Handles Trifles With Ludicrously Disproportionate Gravity.

Winds And Waters Keepa Hush More Dead Than Any Sleep.