The Pale Child, Eve, Leading

In My Garden, Care Stops At The Gate And Gazes At Me Wistfully Through The Bars.

In My Garden I Spend My Days, In My Library I Spend My Nights. My Interests Are Divided Between My Geraniums And My Books. With The Flower I Am In The Present; With The Book I Am In The Past.

A Man's Real Possession Is His Memory. In Nothing Else Is He Rich, In Nothing Else Is He Poor.

Happiness Never Lays Its Finger On Its Pulse. If We Attempt To Steal A Glimpse Of Its Features It Disappears.

There Is No Ghost So Difficult To Lay As The Ghost Of An Injury.