Oh, Time Betrays Us. Time Is The

Youth Knows No Remedy For Grief But Death.

Public Work Brings A Vicarious But Assured Sense Of Immortality. We May Be Poor, Weak, Timid, In Debt To Our Landlady, Bullied By Our Nieces, Stiff In The Joints, Shortsighted And Distressed; We Shall Perish, But The Cause Endures; The Cause Is Great.

[on Golf:] One Of The Most Distressing Defects Of Civilization.

Those Who Prepare For War Get It.

Is This The Final Treachery Of Time, That The Old Become A Burden Upon The Young?