The Only Thing A Man Knows Is

In Winter, When The Dismal Rain Comes Down In Slanting Lines, And Wind, That Grand Old Harper, Smote His Thunder-harp Of Pines.

Love Is But The Discovery Of Ourselves In Others, And The Delight In The Recognition.

There Is Nothing Good In This World Which Time Does Not Improve.

My Heart Like Moon-charmed Waters, All Unrest.

To Bring The Best Human Qualities To Anything Like Perfection, To Fill Them With The Sweet Juices Of Courtesy And Charity, Prosperity, Or, At All Events, A Moderate Amount Of It, Is Required,--just As Sunshine Is Needed For The Ripening Of Peaches And Apricots.