Books Are The Ever Burning Lamps Of

The Test Of Civilization Is The Estimate Of Woman.

In The Journey Of The Year, The Autumn Is Venice, Spring Is Naples, Certainly, And The Majestic Maturity Of Summer Is Rome.

I Walked Beside The Evening Sea And Dreamed A Dream That Could Not Be; The Waves That Plunged Along The Shore Said Only: "dreamer, Dream No More!"

Virtue Does Not Truly Reward Her Votary If She Leaves Him Sad And Half Doubtful Whether It Would Not Have Been Better To Serve Vice.

A Tree Which Has Lost Its Head Will Never Recover It Again, And Will Survive Only As A Monument Of The Ignorance And Folly Of Its Tormentor.