We grow gray in our spirit long before we grow gray in our hair.

We grow gray in our spirit long before we grow gray in our hair.

Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, Why wert thou not born in my father's dwelling?

Shakespeare is one of the last books one should like to give up, perhaps the one just before the Dying Service in a large Prayer book.

Truths, which transcend the searching School-men's vein, / And half had staggered that stout Stagirite.

Riddle of destiny, who can show / What thy short visit meant, or know / What thy errand here below?