Books Wind Into The Heart.

The Confession Of Our Failings Is A Thankless Office. It Savors Less Of Sincerity Or Modesty Than Of Ostentation. It Seems As If We Thought Our Weaknesses As Good As Other People's Virtues.

A Great Chessplayer Is Not A Great Man, For He Leaves The World As He Found It.

If The World Were Good For Nothing Else, It Is A Fine Subject For Speculation.

The Vices Are Never So Well Employed As In Combating One Another.

The More We Do, The More We Can Do.