The ability to have our own way, and at the same time convince others they are having their own way, is a rare thing among men. Among women it is as common as eyebrows.

October turned my maple's leaves to gold; The most are gone now; here and there one lingers: Soon these will slip from the twigs' weak hold, Like coins between a dying miser's fingers.

True art selects and paraphrases, but seldom gives a verbatim translation.

The possession of gold has ruined fewer men than the lack of it.

When friends are at your hearthside met, Sweet courtesy has done its most If you have made each guest forget That he himself is not the host.

Gracious to all, to none subservient, Without offense he spoke the word he meant

The ocean moans over dead men's bones.