Sweet Is The Memory Of

[i]n The Gloomy Month Of February.... The Deserts Of Arabia Are Not More Dreary And Inhospitable Than The Streets Of London At Such A Time.

He Who Wins A Thousand Common Hearts Is Entitled To Some Renown; But He Who Keeps Undisputed Sway Over The Heart Of A Coquette Is Indeed A Hero.

Acting Provides The Fulfillment Of Never Being Fulfilled. You're Never As Good As You'd Like To Be. So There's Always Something To Hope For.

Man Passes Away; His Name Perishes From Record And Recollection; His History Is As A Tale That Is Told, And His Very Monument Becomes A Ruin.

There Are Certain Half-dreaming Moods Of Mind In Which We Naturally Steal Away From Noise And Glare, And Seek Some Quiet Haunt Where We May Indulge Our Reveries And Build Our Air Castles Undisturbed.