The Young May Die, But The Old

I Know Not How It Is, But During A Voyage I Collect Books As A Ship Does Barnacles.

For It Is The Fate Of A Woman Long To Be Patient And Silent, To Wait Like A Ghost That Is Speechless, Till Some Questioning Voice Dissolves The Spell Of Its Silence. Hence Is The Inner Life Of So Many Suffering Women Sunless And Silent And Deep, Like Subterranean Rivers Runnng Through Caverns Of Darkness.

Ah, To Build, To Build! That Is The Noblest Of All The Arts.

Write On Your Doors The Saying Wise And Old, "be Bold! Be Bold!" And Everywhere - "be Bold; Be Not Too Bold!" Yet Better The Excess Than The Defect; Better The More Than Less; Better Like Hector In The Field To Die, Than Like A Perfumed Paris Turn And Fly.

A Solid Man Of Boston; A Comfortable Man With Dividends, And The First Salmon And The First Green Peas.