Time Will Explain It All. He Is

Today's Today. Tomorrow We May Be Ourselves Gone Down The Drain Of Eternity.

'twas But My Tongue, 'twas Not My Soul That Swore.

It Is A Strange Form Of Anger, Difficult To Cure, When Two Friends Turn Upon Each Other In Hatred.

All Is Change; All Yields Its Place And Goes.

Children Are Sweet As The Buds In Spring, But I've Noticed That Those Who Have Them Have Nothing But Trouble All Their Lives.