Young Men Know The Rules, But Old

Men, Like Peaches And Pears, Grow Sweet A Little While Before They Begin To Decay.

Between Two Groups Of People Who Want To Make Inconsistent Kinds Of Worlds, I See No Remedy But Force.

Go On, Fair Science; Soon To Thee Shall Nature Yield Her Idle Boast; Her Vulgar Lingers Formed A Tree, But Thou Hast Trained It To A Post.

Our Dead Brothers And Sisters Still Live For Us And Bid Us Think Of Life, Not Death-of Life To Which In Their Youth They Lent The Passion And Glory Of Spring. As I Listen, The Great Chorus Of Life And Joy Begins Again, And Amid The Awful Orchestra Of Seen And Unseen Powers And Destinies Of Good And Evil, Our Trumpets Sound Once More A Note Of Daring, Hope, And Will.

Most People Have Died Before They Expire; Died To All Earthly Longings, So That The Last Breath Is Only, As It Were, The Locking Of The Door Of The Already Deserted Mansion.