Worry Is The Cross Which We Make

There Were Some Who Said That A Man At The Point Of Death Was More Free Than All Others, Because Death Breaks Every Bond, And Over The Dead The United World Has No Power.

Exactness And Neatness In Moderation Is A Virtue, But Carried To Extremes Narrows The Mind.

The Past But Lives In Written Words: A Thousand Ages Were Blank If Books Had Not Evoked Their Ghosts, And Kept The Pale Unbodied Shades To Warn Us From Fleshless Lips.

Even If No Command To Pray Had Existed, Our Very Weakness Would Have Suggested It.

Real Friends Are Our Greatest Joy And Our Greatest Sorrow. It Were Almost To Be Wished That All True And Faithful Friends Should Expire On The Same Day.