The Creator Who Could Put A Cancer

Each Lost Day Has Its Patron Saint!

But Still When The Mists Of Doubt Prevail, And We Lie Becalmed By The Shores Of Age, We Hear From The Misty Troubled Shore The Voce Of Children Gone Before. Drawing The Soul To Its Anchorage.

One Big Vice In A Man Is Apt To Keep Out A Great Many Smaller Ones.

Don't Be Too Quickto Break Bad Habits: Better Stick,like The Mission Folk, To Your Arsenic.

If, Of All Words Of Tongue And Pen, The Saddest Are, It Might Have Been,' More Sad Are These We Daily See: 'it Is, But Hadn't Ought To Be!'