How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good dead in >>
Silence is the perfectos herald of joy. I were but little happy if I c >>
The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together. >>
For days after death hair and fingernails continue to grow, but phone >>
I look upon life as a gift from God. I did nothing to earn it. Now tha >>
All men think that all men are mortal but themselves. >>
I care not, a man can die but once; we owe God and death.