My Religion Of Life Is Always To

Sunrays, Leaning On Our Southern Hills And Lighting Wild Cloud-mountains That Drag The Hills Along, Oft Ends The Day Of Your Shifting Brilliant Laughter Chill As A Dull Face Frowning On A Song. Ay, But Shows The South-west A Ripple-feathered Bosom Blown To Silver While The Clouds Are Shaken And Ascend Scaling The Mid-heavens As They Stream, There Comes A Sunset Rich, Deep Like Love In Beauty Without End.

Kissing Don't Last: Cookery Do!

How Many A Thing Which We Cast To The Ground, When Others Pick It Up, Becomes A Gem!

We Know The Degree Of Refinement In People By The Matter They Laugh At And The Ring Of The Laugh.

The Future Not Being Born, My Friend, We Will Abstain From Baptizing It.