The Man Who Is Deserving The Name

Dear To Me Is My Bonnie White Steed; Oft Has He Helped Me At Pinch Of Need.

I Have Sometimes Thought Of The Final Cause Of Dogs Having Such Short Lives And I Am Quite Satisfied It Is In Compassion To The Human Race; For If We Suffer So Much In Losing A Dog After An Acquaintance Of Ten Or Twelve Years, What Would It Be If They Were To Live Double That Time?

Love Will Subsist On Wonderfully Little Hope But Not Altogether Without It.

Wounds Sustained For The Sake Of Conscience Carry Their Own Balsam With The Blow.

November's Sky Is Chill And Drear, November's Leaf Is Red And Sear.