Cupid "the Little Greatest Enemy."

Truth Is Tough. It Will Not Break, Like A Bubble, At A Touch; Nay, You May Kick It About All Day Like A Football, And It Will Be Round And Full At Evening.

We Call Those Poets Who Are First To Mark, Through Earth's Dull Mist The Coming Of The Dawn, Who See In Twilight's Gloom The First Pale Spark, While Others Only Note That Day Is Gone.

Memory Is A Net: One That Finds It Full Of Fish When He Takes It From The Brook, But A Dozen Miles Of Water Have Run Through It Without Sticking.

Without Wearing Any Mask We Are Conscious Of, We Have A Special Face For Each Friend.

Truth, When Not Sought After, Rarely Comes To Light.