Pleasure Has No Logic; It Never Treads

Everything Is Sweetened By Risk.

An Old Novel Has A History Of Its Own.

One Never Hugs One's Good Luck So Affectionately As When Listening To The Relation Of Some Horrible Misfortunes Which Has Overtaken Others.

The Pleased Sea On A White-breasted Shore-- A Shore That Wears On Her Alluring Brows Rare Shells, Far Brought, The Love-gifts Of The Sea, That Blushed A Tell-tale.

A Man Does Not Plant A Tree For Himself; He Plants It For Posterity.