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The "good old times" - all times, when old, are good.


The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.

The heart will break, but broken live on.

The past is the best prophet of the future.

The power of Thought, - the magic of the Mind!

Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt In solitude, where we are least alone.

There is a tide in the affairs of women which, taken at the flood, leads - God knows where.

There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and true religion.

They never fail who die in a great cause.

This is the patent age of new inventions for killing bodies, and for saving souls. All propagated with the best intentions.

This man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise, or fear to fall Lord of himself, though not of lands, And leaving nothing, yet hath all.


Though sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure, there is no sterner moralist than pleasure.

Tis enough - Who listens once will listen twice; Her heart be sure is not of ice, And one refusal no rebuff.

'Tis strange - but true; for truth is always strange, Stranger than fiction.

Tis sweet to hear the watchdog's honest bark bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home.

'Tis very certain the desire of life prolongs it.

We are all selfish and I no more trust myself than others with a good motive.

What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? The hearts bleed longest, and but heal to wear that which disfigures it.

What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life's page, And be alone on earth, as I am now.



Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!

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