Artificial Manners Vanish The Moment

Our Pleasures In Literature Do Not, I Think, Decline With Age; Last 1st Of January Was My Eighty-second Birthday, And I Think That I Had As Much Enjoyment From Books As I Ever Had In My Life.

It Is Unjust And Absurd Of Those Advancing In Years, To Expect Of The Young That Confidence Should Come All And Only On Their Side: The Human Heart, At Whatever Age, Opens Only To The Heart That Opens In Return.

When Driven To The Necessity Of Explaining, I Found That I Did Not Myself Understand What I Meant.

Now Flattery Can Never Do Good; Twice Cursed In The Giving And The Receiving, It Ought To Be.

In Real Friendship The Judgment, The Genius, The Prudence Of Each Party Become The Common Property Of Both.