Joy Descends Gently Upon Us Like The

It Is Not The End Of Joy That Makes Old Age So Sad, But The End Of Hope.

Fancy Rules Over Two Thirds Of The Universe, The Past, And Future, While Reality Is Confined To The Present

Universal Love Is A Glove Without Fingers, Which Fits All Bands Alike And None Closely; But True Affection Is Like A Glove With Fingers, Which Fits One Hand Only, And Sits Close To That One.

Every Man Has A Rainy Corner Of His Life Whence Comes Foul Weather Which Follows Him.

Our Birthdays Are Feathers In The Broad Wing Of Time.