Maxioms by Lord Alfred Tennyson
'Tis gone: a thousand such have slipt
Away from my embraces:
And fallen into the dusty crypt
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'Tis gone: a thousand such have slipt
Away from my embraces:
And fallen into the dusty crypt
Of darken'd forms and faces.
When his heart is glad
Of the full harvest, I will speak to him.
When his heart is glad
Of the full harvest, I will speak to him.
He makes no friend who never made a foe.
He makes no friend who never made a foe.
This is the reward of my folly.
This is the reward of my folly.
To disregard money, on suitable occasions, is often a great
profit.
To disregard money, on suitable occasions, is often a great
profit.
