All Men Are Selfish, But

Gratitude Is A Soil On Which Joy Thrives.

We Hear The Rain Fall, But Not The Snow. Bitter Grief Is Loud, Calm Grief Is Silent.

Some Men, Like Modern Shops, Hang Everything In Their Show Windows; When One Goes Inside, Nothing Is To Be Found.

When The Foot Of The' Mountain Is Enveloped In Mist, The Mountain Appears To Us Much Loftier Than It Is; So Also When The Ground And Basis Of A Disaster Is Not Clear To Us.

To Harbor Hatred And Animosity In The Soul Makes One Irritable, Gloomy, And Prematurely Old.