The Dog Was Created Specially

The Pen Is The Tongue Of The Hand; A Silent Utterer Of Words For The Eye.

Love Is The Wine Of Existence. When You Have Taken That, You Have Taken The Most Precious Drop That There Is In The Cluster.

Your Honors Here May Serve You For A Time, As It Were For An Hour, But They Will Be Of No Use To You Beyond This World. Nobody Will Have Heard A Word Of Your Honors In The Other Life. Your Glory, Your Shame, Your Ambitions, And All The Treasures For Which You Push Hard And Sacrifice Much Will Be Like Wreaths Of Smoke. For These Things, Which You Mostly Seek, And For Which You Spend Your Life Only Tarry With You While You Are On This Side Of The Flood.

Repentance May Begin Instantly, But Reformation Often Requires A Sphere Of Years.

The Aster Has Not Wasted Spring And Summer Because It Has Not Blossomed. It Has Been All The Time Preparing For What Is To Follow, And In Autumn It Is The Glory Of The Field, And Only The Frost Lays It Low. So There Are Many People Who Must Live Forty Or Fifty Years, And Have The Crude Sap Of Their Natural Dispositions Changed And Sweetened Before The Blossoming Time Can Come; But Their Lives Have Not Been Wasted.