My Days Are In The

A Man Of Eighty Has Outlived Probably Three New Schools Of Painting, Two Of Architecture And Poetry And A Hundred In Dress.

They Never Fail Who Die In A Great Cause.

The Poor Dog, In Life The Firmest Friend. The First To Welcome, Foremost To Defend.

A Material Resurrection Seems Strange And Even Absurd Except For Purposes Of Punishment, And All Punishment Which Is To Revenge Rather Than Correct Must Be Morally Wrong, And When The World Is At An End, What Moral Or Warning Purpose Can Eternal Tortures Answer?

Italia! O Italia! Thou Who Hast The Fatal Gift Of Beauty.