Chess Is A Sad Waste Of Brains.

A Thousand Fearful Images And Dire Suggestions Glance Along The Mind When It Is Moody And Discontented With Itself. Command Them To Stand And Show Themselves, And You Presently Assert The Power Of Reason Over Imagination.

O Come Ye In Peace Here, Or Come Ye In War, Or To Dance At Our Bridal, Young Lord Lochinvar?

I Envy Thee Not Thy Faith, Which Is Ever In Thy Mouth But Never In Thy Heart Nor In Thy Practice

The Schoolmaster Is Termed, Classically, Ludi Magister, Because He Deprives Boys Of Their Play.

The Half Hour Between Waking And Rising Has All My Life Proved Propitious To Any Task Which Was Exercising My Invention... It Was Always When I First Opened My Eyes That The Desired Ideas Thronged Upon Me.