The World Is Not Made For The

In The Journey Of The Year, The Autumn Is Venice, Spring Is Naples, Certainly, And The Majestic Maturity Of Summer Is Rome.

Happiness Lies, First Of All, In Health.

Life Is A Rich Strain Of Music, Suggesting A Realm Too Fair To Be.

The Pride Of Ancestry Increases In The Ratio Of Distance.

Romance Like A Ghost Escapes Touching; It Is Always Where You Are Not, Not Where You Are. The Interview Or Conversation Was Prose At The Time, But It Is Poetry In The Memory.