As life runs on, the road grows strange with faces new - and near the end. The milestones into headstones change, Neath every one a friend.

Death is delightful. Death is dawn, The waking from a weary night Of fevers unto truth and light.

One thorn of experience is worth a whole wilderness of warning.

The only faith that wears well and holds its color in all weathers is that which is woven of conviction and set with the sharp mordant of experience.

Not failure, but low aim, is crime.