He alone has lost the art to live who cannot win new friends.

Medicine is only palliative. For behind disease lies the cause and this cause NO DRUG can reach.

Alas, how can we help but mourn When hero bosoms yield their breath! A century itself may bear But once the flower of such a death.

He alone has lost the art to live who cannot win new friends.

The arctic loneliness of age.

There are those who suffer and grow strong; there are those who suffer and grow weak. This mystery of pain is still for me the saddest of earth's disabilities.

Death's but one more to-morrow.