There Are Books Of Which The Backs

And Thus Ever By Day And Night, Under The Sun And Under The Stars, Climbing The Dusty Hills And Toiling Along The Weary Plains, Journeying By Land And Journeying By Sea, Coming And Going So Strangely, To Meet And To Act And React On One Another, Move All We Restless Travellers Through The Pilgrimage Of Life.

She Forgot To Be Shy At The Moment, In Honestly Warning Him Away From The Sunken Wreck He Had A Dream Of Raising; And Looked At Him With Eyes Which Assuredly, In Association With Her Patient Face, Her Fragile Figure, Her Spare Dress, And The Wind And Rain, Did Not Turn Him From His Purpose Of Helping Her.

A Boy's Story Is The Best That Is Ever Told.

When We Came Within Sight Of The Sea, The Waves On The Horizon, Caught At Intervals Above The Rolling Abyss, Were Like Glimpses Of Another Shore With Towers And Buildings.

I Am Well Aware That I Am The 'umblest Person Going. . . . My Mother Is Likewise A Very 'umble Person. We Live In A 'umble Abode.