They Who Are Sad Find Somehow Sweetness

Oftener Than Not The Old Are Uncontrollable; Their Tempers Make Them Difficult To Deal With.

The Fountains Of Sacred Rivers Flow Upwards (i.e., Everything Is Turned Topsy Turvy).

Oh, What A Vileness Human Beauty Is; Corroding, Corrupting Everything It Touches.

When Roused To Rage The Maddening Populace Storms, Their Fury, Like A Rolling Flame, Bursts Forth Unquenchable; But Give Its Violence Ways, It Spends Itself, And As Its Force Abates, Learns To Obey And Yields It To Your Will.

No One Can Confidently Say That He Will Still Be Living Tomorrow.