When Time Is Spent, Eternity Begins.

Most Men Call Fretting A Minor Fault, A Foible, And Not A Vice. There Is No Vice Except Drunkenness Which Can So Utterly Destroy The Peace, The Happiness Of A Hoe.

O Winter! Frozen Pulse And Heart Of Fire, What Loss Is Theirs Who From Thy Kingdom Turn Dismayed, And Think Thy Snow A Sculptured Urn Of Death! Far Sooner In Midsummer Tire The Streams Than Under Ice. June Could Not Hire Her Roses To Forego The Strength They Learn In Sleeping On Thy Breast.

By All These Lovely Tokens September Days Are Here, With Summer's Best Of Weather And Autumn's Best Of Cheer.

The Goldenrod Is Yellow, The Corn Is Turning Brown, The Trees In Apple Orchards With Fruit Are Bending Down.

That Indescribable Expression Peculiar To People Who Hope They Have Not Been Asleep, But Know They Have.