I Like That Ancient Saxon Phrase, Which

The Counterfeit And Counterpart Of Nature Is Reproduced In Art.

In The Long Run Men Hit Only What They Aim At.

Well I Know The Secret Places, And The Nests In Hedge And Tree; At What Doors Are Friendly Faces, In What Hearts Are Thoughts Of Me.

A Solid Man Of Boston; A Comfortable Man With Dividends, And The First Salmon And The First Green Peas.

Mercy More Becomes A Magistrate Than The Vindictive Wrath Which Men Call Justice.