Hope Has As Many Lives As A

A Man Must Be Of A Very Quiet And Happy Nature, Who Can Long Endure The Country; And, Moreover, Very Well Contented With His Own Insignificant Person.

Not Chance Of Birth Or Place Has Made Us Friends, Being Oftentimes Of Different Tongues And Nations, But The Endeavor For The Selfsame Ends, With The Same Hopes, And Fears, And Aspirations.

The Atmosphere Breathes Rest And Comfort, And The Many Chambers Seem Full Of Welcomes.

What Is Time? The Shadow On The Dial, The Striking Of The Clock, The Running Of The Sand, Day And Night, Summer And Winter, Months, Years, Centuries-these Are But Arbitrary And Outward Signs, The Measure Of Time, Not Time Itself. Time Is The Life Of The Soul.

Music Is The Language Spoken By Angels.