Business Before Pleasure.

How Beautiful, How Buoyant, And Glad Is Morning!

I Hate The Word 'ought' - It Always Implies Something Dull, Cold, And Commonplace. The 'ought Nots' Of Life Are Its Pleasantest Things.

A Blossom Full Of Promise Is Life's Joy, That Never Comes To Fruit. Hope, For A Time, Suns The Young Floweret In Its Gladsome Light, And It Looks Flourishing--a Little While-- 't Is Pass'd, We Know Not Whither, But 't Is Gone.

In Sad Truth, Half Our Forebodings Of Our Neighbors Are But Our Own Wishes, Which We Are Ashamed To Utter In Any Other Form.

The Past Is Perpetual Youth To The Heart.