Happiness Is A Wine Of The Rarest

Thank Heavens, The Sun Has Gone In And I Don’t Have To Go Out And Enjoy It.

To Become Young Again Would Seem To Me An Appalling Prospect. Youth Is A Kind Of Delirium, Which Can Be Cured, If It Is Ever Cured At All, By Years Of Painful Treatment.

Every Author, However Modest, Keeps A Most Outrageous Vanity Chained Like A Madman In The Padded Cell Of His Breast.

Uncultivated Minds Are Not Full Of Wild Flowers, Like Uncultivated Fields. Villainous Weeds Grow In Them And They Are The Haunt Of Toads.

Whiskey Has Killed More Men Than Bullets, But Most Men Would Rather Be Full Of Whiskey Than Bullets.