Every Day Travels Toward Death; The Last

How Beautiful The Yesterday That Stood Over Me Like A Rainbow! I Am Alone, The Past Is Past. I See The Future Stretch All Dark And Barren As A Rainy Sea.

Stirling, Like A Huge Brooch, Clasps Highlands And Lowlands Together.

The Truly Great Rest In The Knowledge Of Their Own Deserts, Nor Seek The Conformation Of The World.

If You Wish To Preserve Your Secret, Wrap It Up In Frankness.

An Old Novel Has A History Of Its Own.