Oh, Give Me Back The Good Old

It Is Well We Cannot See Into The Future. There Are Few Boys Of Fourteen Who Would Not Feel Ashamed Of Themselves At Forty.

A Good Woman's Arms Round A Man's Neck Is A Lifebelt Thrown Out To Him From Heaven.

We Shall Never Be Content Until Each Man Makes His Own Weather And Keeps It To Himself.

Oh, Give Me Back The Good Old Days Of Fifty Years Ago,“ Has Been The Cry Ever Since Adam's Fifty-first Birthday.

That Is Just The Way With Memory; Nothing That She Brings To Us Is Complete. She Is A Willful Child; All Her Toys Are Broken. I Remember Tumbling Into A Huge Dust-hole When A Very Small Boy, But I Have Not The Faintest Recollection Of Ever Getting Out Again; And If Memory Were All We Had To Trust To, I Should Be Compelled To Believe I Was There Still.