Books Without The Knowledge Of Life Are

Of Those That Spin Out Trifles And Die Without A Memorial, Many Flatter Themselves With High Opinions Of Their Own Importance, And Imagine That They Are Every Day Adding Some Improvement To Human Life.

The Joy Of Life Is Variety; The Tenderest Love Requires To Be Rekindled By Intervals Of Absence.

This World, Where Much Is To Be Done And Little To Be Known.

Admiration Must Be Continued By That Novelty Which First Produces It; And How Much Soever Is Given, There Must Always Be Reason To Imagine That More Remains.

Rain Is Good For Vegetables, And For The Animals Who Eat Those Vegetables, And For The Animals Who Eat Those Animals.