Science May Carry Us To Mars, But

Miserliness Is The One Vice That Grows Stronger With Increasing Years. It Yields Its Sordid Pleasures To The End.

We Have But The Memories Of Past Good Cheer, We Have But The Echoes Of Departed Laughter. In Vain We Look And Listen For The Mirth That Has Died Away. In Vain We Seek To Question The Gray Ghosts Of Old-time Revelers.

It Is Unwise To Feel Too Much If We Think Too Little.

But Self-satisfaction, If As Buoyant As Gas, Has An Ugly Trick Of Collapsing When Full Blown, And Facts Are Stony Things That Refuse To Melt Away In The Sunshine Of A Smile.

It Is Not What We Learn In Conversation That Enriches Us. It Is The Elation That Comes Of Swift Contact With Tingling Currents Of Thought.