See Yonder Little Cloud, That, Borne Aloft

In Old Age Our Bodies Are Worn-out Instruments, On Which The Soul Tries In Vain To Play The Melodies Of Youth. But Because The Instrument Has Lost Its Strings, Or Is Out Of Tune, It Does Not Follow That The Musician Has Lost His Skill.

It Has Done Me Good To Be Somewhat Parched By The Heat And Drenched By The Rain Of Life.

I Have A Passion For Ballad. . . . They Are The Gypsy Children Of Song, Born Under Green Hedgerows In The Leafy Lanes And Bypaths Of Literature,--in The Genial Summertime.

Perseverance Is A Great Element Of Success.

Art Is Long, And Time Is Fleeting.