When nations grow old, the Arts grow cold,
And Commerce settles on every tree.
When nations grow old, the Arts grow cold,
And Commerce settles on every tree.
If we are uncritical we shall always find what we want: we shall look for, and find, confirmations, and we…
The voice of a young man One sticks one's finger into the soil to tell by the smell in what…
Let your boat of life be light, packed with only what you need - a homely home and simple pleasures,…