Come My Little One, And

To Every One [nature] Appears In A Form Of His Own. She Hides Herself In A Thousand Names And Terms, And Is Always The Same.

Of All Thieves, Fools Are The Worst; They Rob You Of Time And Temper.

Once You Have Missed The First Buttonhole, You'll Never Manage To Button Up.

Tomorrow Sees Undone, What Happens Not To-day; Still Forward Press, Nor Never Tire! The Possible, With Steadfast Trust, Resolve Should Be By The Forelock Grasp. Then She Will Ne'er Let Go Her Clasp, And Labors On, Because She Must.

Necessity Is Cruel, But It Is The Only Test Of Inward Strength. Every Fool May Live According To His Own Likings.