Youth Is Immortal; Tis The Elderly Only

There Is A Touch Of Divinity Even In Brutes, And A Special Halo About A Horse, That Should Forever Exempt Him From Indignities.

It Is The Horrible Texture Of A Fabric That Should Be Woven Of Ships' Cables And Hawsers. A Polar Wind Blows Through It, And Birds Of Prey Hover Over It.

The Dinner-hour Is The Summer Of The Day: Full Of Sunshine, I Grant; But Not Like The Mellow Autumn Of Supper.

It Is Not The Purpose Of Literature To Purvey News. For News Consult The Almanac De Gotha.

An Utterly Fearless Man Is A Far More Dangerous Comrade Than A Coward.