We Are So Vain That

The Understanding Of Some Men Is Clear, That Of Others Brilliant. The Former Illumines Its Surroundings; The Latter Obscures Them.

Wit Is An Intermittent Fountain; Kindness Is A Perennial Spring.

There Are Women Who Love Their Husbands As Blindly, As Enthusiastically, And As Enigmatically As Nuns Their Cloister.

Many Think That When They Have Confessed A Fault There Is No Need Of Correcting It.

Origins Are Of The Greatest Importance. We Are Almost Reconciled To Having A Cold When We Remember Where We Caught It.