If A Man Is Worth Knowing At

We Twain Have Met Like The Ships Upon The Sea, Who Behold An Hour's Converse, So Short, So Sweet: One Little Hour! And Then, Away They Speed On Lonely Paths, Through Mist, And Cloud, And Foam, To Meet No More.

Winter Does Not Work Only On A Broad Scale; He Is Careful In Trifles.

Happiness Never Lays Its Finger On Its Pulse. If We Attempt To Steal A Glimpse Of Its Features It Disappears.

The Man Who In This World Can Keep The Whiteness Of His Soul Is Not Likely To Lose It In Any Other.

A Tender Sadness Drops Upon My Soul, Like The Soft Twilight Dropping On The World.