We Mortals Hear Only The News, And

The Generation Of Mankind Is Like The Generation Of Leaves. The Wind Scatters The Leaves On The Ground, But The Living Tree Burgeons With Leaves Again In The Spring.

All Men Owe Honor To The Poets - Honor And Awe; For They Are Dearest To The Muse Who Puts Upon Their Lips The Ways Of Life.

Now Son, You Don’t Want To Drink Beer. That’s For Daddies, And Kids With Fake Ids.

It Is The Bold Man Who Every Time Does Best, At Home Or Abroad.

A Man Who Has Been Through Bitter Experiences And Travelled Far Enjoys Even His Sufferings After A Time