"o, Mrs. Clennam, Mrs. Clennam," Said Little

Dreams Are The Bright Creatures Of Poem And Legend, Who Sport On Earth In The Night Season, And Melt Away In The First Beam Of The Sun, Which Lights Grim Care And Stern Reality On Their Daily Pilgrimage Through The World.

Once A Gentleman, And Always A Gentleman.

Have A Heart That Never Hardens, And A Temper That Never Tires, And A Touch That Never Hurts.

I Only Know That It Was, And Ceased To Be; And That I Have Written, And There I Leave It.

On The Eve Of Long Voyages Or An Absence Of Many Years, Friends Who Are Tenderly Attached Will Seperate With The Usual Look, The Usual Pressure Of The Hand, Planning One Final Interview For The Morrow, While Each Well Knows That It Is But A Poor Feint To Save The Pain Of Uttering That One Word, And The Meeting Will Never Be. Should Possibilities Be Worse To Bear Than Certainties?