The Pale Child, Eve, Leading Her Mother,

Winter Does Not Work Only On A Broad Scale; He Is Careful In Trifles.

Nature Never Quite Goes Along With Us. She Is Somber At Weddings, Sunny At Funerals, And She Frowns On Ninety-nine Out Of A Hundred Picnics.

A Bottomless Pit Of Violence, A Tower Of Babel Where All Are Speakers And No Hearers.

It Is A Characteristic Of Pleasure That We Can Never Recognize It To Be Pleasure Till After It Is Gone.

Eternity Doth Wear Upon Her Face The Veil Of Time. They Only See The Veil, And Thus They Know Not What They Stand So Near!