The Sons Of Judah Have

The Years Seem To Rush By Now, And I Think Of Death As A Fast Approaching End Of A Journey-double And Treble Reason For Loving As Well As Working While It Is Day.

The Troublesome Ones In A Family Are Usually Either The Wits Or The Idiots.

A Man Falling Into Dark Waters Seeks A Momentary Footing Even On Sliding Stones.

Perhaps The Wind Wails So In Winter For The Summers Dead, And All Sad Sounds Are Nature's Funeral Cries For What Has Been And Is Not.

Vague Memories Hang About The Mind Like Cobwebs.