Death, Like Birth, Is One Of Nature's

Snow Endures But For A Season, And Joy Comes With The Morning.

The Soul Is Dyed By The Thoughts. Dye It Then, With A Continuous Series Of Such Thoughts As These - That Where A Man Can Live, There - If He Will - He Can Also Live Well.

Glory Arrives Too Late When It Comes Only To One's Ashes

A Man Makes No Noise Over A Good Deed, But Passes On To Another As A Vine To Bear Grapes Again In Season.

The Noblest Kind Of Retribution Is Not To Become Like Your Enemy.