Youth Comes But Once A Life Time.

Through Woods And Mountain Passes The Winds, Like Anthems, Roll.

They Are Dead; But They Live In Each Patriot's Breast, And Their Names Are Engraven On Honor's Bright Crest.

The Secret Studies Of An Author Are The Sunken Piers Upon Which Is To Rest The Bridge Of His Fame, Spanning The Dark Waters Of Oblivion. They Are Out Of Sight, But Without Them No Superstructure Can Stand Secure.

Time Has A Doomsday Book, Upon Whose Pages He Is Continually Recording Illustrious Names. But As Often As A New Name Is Written There, An Old One Disappears. Only A Few Stand In Illuminated Characters Never To Be Effaced.

A Single Conversation Across The Table With A Wise Man Is Better Than Ten Years Mere Study Of Books.