Gray Hairs Seem To My Fancy Like

Every Man Regards His Own Life As The New Year's Eve Of Time.

Memory, Wit, Fancy, Acuteness, Cannot Grow Young Again In Old Age, But The Heart Can.

Nations And Men Are Only The Best When They Are The Gladdest, And Deserve Heaven When They Enjoy It.

He Thought Of The Mouldering Child, Which Laid Its Withered Thin Arms Around His Soul, As If It Were His Own, And To Whom Death Had Given As Much As A God Gave To Endymion, — Sleep, Eternal Youth, And Immortality.

There Are Souls In This World Which Have The Gift Of Finding Joy Everywhere And Of Leaving It Behind Them When They Go.