The same words conceal and declare the thoughts of men.

Like glimpses of forgotten dreams.

Faith is believing what we cannot prove.

We cannot be kind to each other here for even an hour. We whisper, and hint, and chuckle and grin at our brother's shame; however you take it we men are a little breed.

Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great.

How many a father have I seen, A sober man, among his boys, Whose youth was full of foolish noise.

Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true.