Gratitude Is A Soil On Which Joy

The Vain Being Is The Really Solitary Being.

The Silver-leaved Birch Retains In Its Old Age A Soft Bark; There Are Some Such Men.

Imagination Is The Mightiest Despot.

I Have Been Young And Am Now Old, And Have Not Yet Known An Untruthful Man To Come To A Good End.

Truly, One Gets Easier Accustomed To A Silken Bed Than To A Sack Of Leaves.