History Begins In Novel And Ends In

Everybody's Business Is Nobody's Business.

Oh, Wherefore Come Ye Forth In Triumph From The North, With Your Hands, And Your Feet, And Your Raiment All Red? And Wherefore Doth Your Rout Send Forth A Joyous Shout? And Whence Be The Grapes Of The Wine-press Which Ye Tread?

What Proposition Is There Respecting Human Nature Which Is Absolutely And Universally True? We Know Of Only One,--and That Is Not Only True, But Identical,--that Men Always Act From Self-interest.

Nothing Is So Useless As A General Maxim.

A Man Possessed Of Splendid Talents, Which He Often Abused, And Of A Sound Judgment, The Admonitions Of Which He Often Neglected; A Man Who Succeeded Only In An Inferior Department Of His Art, But Who In That Department Succeeded Pre-eminently.