Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold! Bright And Yellow,

No Shade, No Shine, No Butterflies, No Bees, No Fruits, No Flowers, No Leaves, No Birds - November!

There Is Not A String Attuned To Mirth But Has Its Chord Of Melancholy.

Extremes Meet', As The Whiting Said With Its Tail In Its Mouth.

Some Minds Improve By Travel, Others, Rather, Resemble Copper Wire, Or Brass, Which Get The Narrower By Going Farther.

When He Is Forsaken, Withered And Shaken, What Can An Old Man Do But Die?