I Hate False Words, And Seek With

Fame, They Tell You, Is Air; But Without Air There Is No Life For Any; Without Fame There Is None For The Best.

Life And Death Appear More Certainly Ours Than Whatsoever Else; And Yet Hardly Can That Be Called Ours, Which Comes Without Our Knowledge, And Goes Without It.

Fancy Is Imagination In Her Youth And Adolescence. Fancy Is Always Excursive; Imagination, Not Seldom, Is Sedate.

Men, Like Nails, Lose Their Usefulness When They Lose Their Direction And Begin To Bend.

Not Dancing Well, I Never Danced At All--and How Grievously Has My Heart Ached When Others Where In The Full Enjoyment Of That Conversation Which I Had No Right Even To Partake.