Mother's love grows by giving.
I cannot sit and think; books think for me.
Let us live for the beauty of our own reality.
(The pig) hath a fair sepulchre in the grateful stomach of the judicious epicure - and for such a tomb might be content to die.
Whose wit in the combat, as gentle as bright, Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade.
No one ever regarded the First of January with indifference. It is that from which all date their time, and count upon what is left. It is the nativity of our common Adam.