Falsehood Is For A Season.

It Often Comes Into My Head That We May Dream When We Are Dead, But I Am Far From Sure We Do. O That It Were So! Then My Rest Would Be Indeed Among The Blest; I Should For Ever Dream Of You.

The Happiest Of Pillows Is Not That Which Love First Presses! It Is That Which Death Has Frowned On And Passed Over.

We Cannot At Once Catch The Applauses Of The Vulgar And Expect The Approbation Of The Wise.

Cats Ask Plainly For What They Want.

Of All Failures, To Fail In A Witticism Is The Worst, And The Mishap Is The More Calamitous In A Drawn-out And Detailed One