There Are Souls In This

Universal Love Is A Glove Without Fingers, Which Fits All Bands Alike And None Closely; But True Affection Is Like A Glove With Fingers, Which Fits One Hand Only, And Sits Close To That One.

Joy Descends Gently Upon Us Like The Evening Dew, And Does Not Patter Down Like A Hailstorm.

What A Father Says To His Children Is Not Heard By The World, But It Will Be Heard By Posterity.

It Is Not The End Of Joy That Makes Old Age So Sad, But The End Of Hope.

A Loving Maiden Grows Unconsciously More Bold.