The plague of gold strikes far and near.

May the good God pardon all good men.

When we first met and loved, I did not build Upon the event with marble. . . .

No man can be called friendless who has God and the companionship of good books.

Men of science, osteologists And surgeons, beat some poets, in respect For nature,-count nought common or unclean, Spend raptures upon perfect specimens Of indurated veins, distorted joints, Or beautiful new cases of curved spine; While we, we are shocked at nature's falling off, We dare to shrink back from her warts and blains.

The charm, one might say the genius, of memory is that it is choosy, chancy and temperamental; it rejects the edifying cathedral and indelibly photographs the small boy outside, chewing a hunk of melon in the dust.

And is it not the chief good of money, the being free from the need of thinking of it?