Think Of The Man Who

It Is Very Strange, This Domination Of Our Intellect By Our Digestive Organs. We Cannot Work, We Cannot Think, Unless Our Stomach Wills So. It Dictates To Us Our Emotions, Our Passions.... We Are But The Veriest, Sorriest Slaves Of Our Stomach. Reach Not After Morality And Righteousness, My Friends; Watch Vigilantly Your Stomach, And Diet It With Care And Judgment. Then Virtue And Contentment Will Come And Reign Within Your Heart, Unsought By Any Effort Of Your Own; And You Will Be A Good Citizen, A Loving Husband, And A Tender Father—a Noble, Pious Man.

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.

There Are Two Kinds Of Clocks. There Is The Clock That Is Always Wrong, And That Knows It Is Wrong, And Glories In It; And There Is The Clock That Is Always Right - Except When You Rely Upon It, And Then It Is More Wrong Than You Would Think A Clock Could Be In A Civilized Country.

There Are Many Families Where The Whole Interest Of Life Is Centered Upon The Dog.

There Are Various Methods By Which You May Achieve Ignominy And Shame. By Murdering A Large And Respected Family In Cold Blood And Afterward Depositing Their Bodies In The Water Companies' Reservoir, You Will Gain Much Unpopularity In The Neighborhood Of Your Crime, And Even Robbing A Church Will Get You Cordially Disliked, Especially By The Vicar. But If You Desire To Drain To The Dregs The Fullest Cup Of Scorn And Hatred That A Fellow Human Creature Can Pour Out For You, Let A Young Mother Hear You Call Dear Baby "it.