Nature Always Wears The Colors Of The

The Domestic Man, Who Loves No Music So Well As His Kitchen Clock, And The Airs Which The Logs Sing To Him As They Burn On The Hearth, Has Solaces Which Others Never Dream Of.

The Divine Gift Is Ever The Instant Life, Which Receives And Uses And Creates, And Can Well Bury The Old In The Omnipotency With Which Nature Decomposes All Her Harvest For Recomposition.

I Have Heard With Admiring Submission The Experience Of The Lady Who Declared That The Sense Of Being Well Dressed Gives A Feeling Of Inward Tranquility Which Religion Is Powerless To Bestow.

When Nature Removes A Great Man, People Explore The Horizon For A Successor; But None Comes, And None Will. His Class Is Extinguished With Him. In Some Other And Quite Different Field, The Next Man Will Appear.

Meet Your Failure Nobly, And It Will Not Differ From Success.