Life Is The Jailer, Death The Angel

Things Always Seem Fairer When We Look Back At Them, And It Is Out Of That Inaccessible Tower Of The Past That Longing Leans And Beckons.

A Marciful Providunce Fashioned Us Holler O' Purpose Thet We Might Our Principles Swaller.

The Green Grass Floweth Like A Stream Into The Oceans's Blue.

What Men Prize Most Is A Privilege, Even If It Be That Of Chief Mourner At A Funeral.

Pride Of Origin, Whether High Or Low, Springs From The Same Principle In Human Nature; One Is But The Positive, The Other The Negative, Pole Of A Single Weakness.