With Hat In Hand, One Gets On

I Have Been Young And Am Now Old, And Have Not Yet Known An Untruthful Man To Come To A Good End.

Some Men, Like Modern Shops, Hang Everything In Their Show Windows; When One Goes Inside, Nothing Is To Be Found.

The Silver-leaved Birch Retains In Its Old Age A Soft Bark; There Are Some Such Men.

We Consider It Tedious To Talk Of The Weather, And Yet There Is Nothing More Important.

To Harbor Hatred And Animosity In The Soul Makes One Irritable, Gloomy, And Prematurely Old.