The dog of your boyhood teaches you a great deal about friendship, and love, and death: Old Skip was my brother. They had buried him under our elm tree, they said-yet this wasn't totally true. For he really lay buried in my heart.
Death cannot kill what never dies.
The highest tribute to the dead is not grief but gratitude.
Not the least hard thing to bear when they go from us, these quiet friends, is that they carry away with them so many years of our own lives.
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