Bald As The Bare Mountain Tops Are

What Is It To Grow Old? Is It To Lose The Glory Of The Form, The Lustre Of The Eye? Is It For Beauty To Forego Her Wreath? Yes; But Not This Alone.

Journalism Is Literature In A Hurry.

Wandering Between Two Worlds, One Dead, The Other Powerless To Be Born.

A Wanderer Is Man From His Birth. He Was Born In A Ship On The Breast Of The River Of Time.

There Is No Better Motto Which It [culture] Can Have Than These Words Of Bishop Wilson, "to Make Reason And The Will Of God Prevail."