If A Man Is Worth Knowing At

The Greatness Of An Artist Or A Writer Does Not Depend On What He Has In Common With Other Artists And Writers, But On What He Has Peculiar To Himself.

Vanity In Its Idler Moments Is Benevolent, Is As Willing To Give Pleasure As To Take It, And Accepts As Sufficient Reward For Its Services A Kind Word Or An Approving Smile.

Love Is But The Discovery Of Ourselves In Others, And The Delight In The Recognition.

The Truly Great Rest In The Knowledge Of Their Own Deserts, Nor Seek The Conformation Of The World.

We Twain Have Met Like The Ships Upon The Sea, Who Behold An Hour's Converse, So Short, So Sweet: One Little Hour! And Then, Away They Speed On Lonely Paths, Through Mist, And Cloud, And Foam, To Meet No More.