The Cat Dwells Within The Circle Of

I Am Seventy Years Old, A Gray Age Weighted With Uncompromising Biblical Allusions. It Ought To Have A Gray Outlook, But It Hasn't, Because A Glint Of Dazzling Sunshine Is Dancing Merrily Ahead Of Me.

English Civilization Rests Largely Upon Tea And Cricket, With Mighty Spurts Of Enjoyment On Derby Day, And At Newmarket.

If We Could Make Up Our Minds To Spare Our Friends All Details Of Ill Health, Of Money Losses, Of Domestic Annoyances, Of Altercations, Of Committee Work, Of Grievances, Provocations, And Anxieties, We Should Sin Less Against The World's Good-humor. It May Not Be Given Us To Add To The Treasury Of Mirth; But There Is Considerable Merit In Not Robbing It.

When The Milk Of Human Kindness Turns Sour, It Is A Singularly Unpalatable Draught.

A Puppy Is But A Dog, Plus High Spirits, And Minus Common Sense.