Our Treasures Trifles Seem, And All Our

If A Pretty Woman Only Knew How Anger Improved Her Beauty! Her Complexion Needs No Other Paint Than Indignation.

A Good Action Is Never Lost; It Is A Treasure Laid Up And Guarded For The Doer's Need.

And Yet, And Yet, In These Our Ghostly Lives, Half Night, Half Day, Half Sleeping, Half Awake, How If Our Waking Life, Like That Of Sleep, Be All A Dream In That Eternal Life To Which We Wake Not Till We Sleep In Death

In This Treacherous World Nothing Is The Truth Nor A Lie. Everything Depends On The Color Of The Crystal Through Which One Sees It

Our Treasures Trifles Seem, And All Our Life Is Dreaming, And The Dreams Themselves Are Dreams.