Memory Is A Net: One That Finds

The Morning Cup Of Coffee Has An Exhilaration About It Which The Cheering Influence Of The Afternoon Or Evening Cup Of Tea Cannot Be Expected To Reproduce.

I Think That, As Life Is Action And Passion, It Is Required Of A Man That He Should Share The Passion And Action Of His Time At Peril Of Being Judged Not To Have Lived.

Memory Is A Net: One That Finds It Full Of Fish When He Takes It From The Brook, But A Dozen Miles Of Water Have Run Through It Without Sticking.

As We Grow Older We Think More And More Of Old Persons And Of Old Things And Places. As To Old Persons, It Seems As If We Never Know How Much They Have To Tell Until We Are Old Ourselves And They Have Been Gone Twenty Or Thirty Years. Once In A While We Come Upon Some Survivor Of His Or Her Generation That We Have Overlooked, And Feel As If We Had Recovered One Of The Lost Books Of Livy Or Fished Up The Golden Candlestick From The Ooze Of The Tiber.

America Is The Only Place Where Man Is Full-grown!