Books Are A Finer World Within The

In The Entire Circle Of The Year There Are No Days So Delightful As Those Of A Fine October.

To Sit For One's Portrait Is Like Being Present At One's Own Creation.

A Man Does Not Plant A Tree For Himself; He Plants It For Posterity.

A Man's Real Possession Is His Memory. In Nothing Else Is He Rich, In Nothing Else Is He Poor.

Men And Women Make Their Own Beauty Or Their Own Ugliness. Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton Speaks In One Of His Novels Of A Man "who Was Uglier Than He Had Any Business To Be;" And, If We Could But Read It, Every Human Being Carries His Life In His Face, And Is Good-looking Or The Reverse As That Life Has Been Good Or Evil. On Our Features The Fine Chisels Of Thought And Emotion Are Eternally At Work.