And Numerous Indeed Are The

It Was A Harder Day's Journey Than Yesterday's, For There Were Long And Weary Hills To Climb; And In Journeys, As In Life, It Is A Great Deal Easier To Go Down Hill Than Up. However, They Kept On, With Unabated Perseverance, And The Hill Has Not Yet Lifted Its Face To Heaven That Perseverance Will Not Gain The Summit Of At Last.

Life Is Made Of Ever So Many Partings Welded Together.

It Was A Murky Confusion — Here And There Blotted With A Color Like The Color Of The Smoke From Damp Fuel — Of Flying Clouds Tossed Up Into Most Remarkable Heaps, Suggesting Greater Heights In The Clouds Than There Were Depths Below Them To The Bottom Of The Deepest Hollows In The Earth, Through Which The Wild Moon Seemed To Plunge Headlong, As If, In A Dread Disturbance Of The Laws Of Nature, She Had Lost Her Way And Were Frightened.

For Who Can Wonder That Man Should Feel A Vague Belief In Tales Of Disembodied Spirits Wandering Through Those Places Which They Once Dearly Affected, When He Himself, Scarcely Less Separated From His Old World Than They, Is For Ever Lingering Upon Past Emotions And Bygone Times, And Hovering, The Ghost Of His Former Self, About The Places And People That Warmed His Heart Of Old?

You Don't Carry In Your Countenance A Letter Of Recommendation.