Conversation Is An Abandonment To Ideas, A

While One Finds Company In Himself And His Pursuits, He Cannot Feel Old, No Matter What His Years May Be.

Time Ripens The Substance Of A Life As The Seasons Mellow And Perfect Its Fruits. The Best Apples Fall Latest And Keep Longest.

The Fable Runs That The Gods Mix Our Pains And Pleasure In One Cup, And Thus Mingle For Us The Adulterate Immortality Which We Alone Are Permitted Here To Enjoy. Voluptuous Raptures, Could We Prolong These At Pleasure, Would Dissipate And Dissolve Us. A Sip Is The Most That Mortals Are Permitted From Any Goblet Of Delight.

Our Friends Interpret The World And Ourselves To Us, If We Take Them Tenderly And Truly.

Every Sin Provokes Its Punishment.