Better To Work And Fail

I Had Walked Into That Reading-room A Happy, Healthy Man. I Crawled Out A Decrepit Wreck.

It Seems To Me So Shocking To See The Precious Hours Of A Man's Life - The Priceless Moments That Will Never Come Back To Him Again - Being Wasted In A Mere Brutish Sleep.

It Is In Our Faults And Failings, Not In Our Virtues, That We Touch One Another And Find Sympathy. We Differ Widely Enough In Our Nobler Qualities. It Is In Our Follies That We Are At One.

What Readers Ask Nowadays In A Book Is That It Should Improve, Instruct, And Elevate. This Book Wouldn't Elevate A Cow.

That Is Just The Way With Memory; Nothing That She Brings To Us Is Complete. She Is A Willful Child; All Her Toys Are Broken. I Remember Tumbling Into A Huge Dust-hole When A Very Small Boy, But I Have Not The Faintest Recollection Of Ever Getting Out Again; And If Memory Were All We Had To Trust To, I Should Be Compelled To Believe I Was There Still.