And These Are Joys, Like

Grief Hallows Hearts, Even While It Ages Heads.

The Long Days Are No Happier Than The Short Ones.

The Death-bed Of A Day, How Beautiful!

It Is Sad To See The Light Of Beauty Wane Away, Know Eyes Are Dimming, Bosoms Shrivelling, Feet Losing Their Springs, And Limbs Their Lily Roundness; But It Is Worse To Feel The Heart-spring Gone, To Lose Hope, Care Not For The Coming Thing, And Feel All Things Go To Decay Within Us.

The First And Worst Of All Frauds Is To Cheat One's Self.