Winds And Waters Keepa Hush More Dead

A Man Who Keeps A Diary Pays, Due Toll To Many Tedious Days; But Life Becomes Eventful—then, His Busy Hand Forgets The Pen. Most Books, Indeed, Are Records Less Of Fulness Than Of Emptiness.

Pluck Not The Wayside Flower; It Is The Traveler's Dower.

The Mother's Kiss Is The Sweetest Thing Ever.

One Who Can See Without Seeming To See-- That's An Observer As Good As Three.

Does Not The Latent Feeling That Much Of Their Striving Is To No Purpose Tend To Infuse Large Quantities Of Sham Into Men's Work?