And Silence, Like A Poultice,

Men Are Idolaters, And Want Something To Look At And Kiss And Hug, Or Throw Themselves Down Before; They Always Did, They Always Will; And If You Don't Make It Of Wood, You Must Make It Of Words.

One Of The Eternal Conflicts Out Of Which Life Is Made Up Is That Between The Effort Of Every Man To Get The Most He Can For His Services, And That Of Society, Disguised Under The Name Of Capital, To Get His Services For The Least Possible Return.

The Joy Of Life Is To Put Out One's Power In Some Natural And Useful Or Harmless Way. There Is No Other. And The Real Misery Is Not To Do This.

Men, Like Peaches And Pears, Grow Sweet A Little While Before They Begin To Decay.

The Minute A Phrase, Becomes Current, It Becomes An Apology For Not Thinking Accurately To The End Of The Sentence.