A Woman's Preaching Is Like

After I Went To Bed I Had A Curious Fancy As To Dreams. In Sleep The Doors Of The Mind Are Shut, And Thoughts Come Jumping In At The Windows. They Tumble Headlong, And Therefore Are So Disorderly And Strange. Sometimes They Are Stout And Light On Their Feet, And Then They Are Rational Dreams.

People, I Just Want To Say, You Know, Can We All Get Along? Can We Get Along? Can We Stop Making It, Making It Horrible For The Older People And The Kids? A Man Cannot Know Himself Better Than By Attending To The Feelings Of His Heart And To His External Actions, From Which He May With Tolerable Certainty Judge "what Manner Of Person He Is." I Have Therefore Determined To Keep A Daily Journal.

No, Sir, Claret Is The Liquor For Boys; Port For Men: But He Who Aspires To Be A Hero Must Drink Brandy. In The First Place Brandy Will Do Soonest For A Man What Drinking Can Do For Him.

Buffon, Who, With All His Theoretical Ingenuity And Extraordinary Eloquence, I Suspect Had Little Actual Information In The Science On Which He Wrote So Admirably For Instance, He Tells Us That The Cow Sheds Her Horns Every Two Years; A Most Palpable Error. ... It Is Wonderful That Buffon Who Lived So Much In The Country At His Noble Seat Should Have Fallen Into Such A Blunder I Suppose He Has Confounded The Cow With The Deer.

I Think There Is A Blossom About Me Of Something More Distinguished Than The Generality Of Mankind.