Even When She Walks One Would Believe

Nearly All Our Originality Comes From The Stamp That Time Impresses Upon Our Sensibility.

Nothing Is As Tedious As The Limping Days, When Snowdrifts Yearly Cover All The Ways, And Ennui, Sour Fruit Of Incurious Gloom, Assumes Control Of Fate’s Immortal Loom

There Are As Many Kinds Of Beauty As There Are Habitual Ways Of Seeking Happiness.

The Immense Appetite We Have For Biography Comes From A Deep-seated Sense Of Equality.

Cats, So Strong And Gentle, The Pride Of The Household.