We figure to ourselves The thing we like; and then we build it up, As chance will have it, on the rock or sand,- For thought is tired of wandering o'er the world, And homebound Fancy runs her bark ashore. See image Henry Taylor
He that lacks time to mourn, lacks time to mend: Eternity mourns that. 'Tis an ill cure For life's worst ills to have no time to feel them. See image Henry Taylor
The art of living easily as to money is to pitch your scale of living one degree below your means. See image Henry Taylor