It Takes A Long Time To Understand

So Much Of Our Lives Is Given Over To The Consideration Of Our Imperfections That There Is No Time To Improve Our Imaginary Virtues. The Truth Is We Only Perfect Our Vices, And Man Is A Worse Creature When He Dies Than He Was When He Was Born.

The Newspaper Has Debauched The American Until He Is A Slavish, Simpering, And Angerless Citizen; It Has Taught Him To Be A Lump Mass-man Toward Fraud, Simony, Murder, And Lunacies More Vile Than Those Of Commodus Or Caracalla.

No People Require Maxims So Much As The American. The Reason Is Obvious: The Country Is So Vast, The People Always Going Somewhere, From Oregon Apple Valley To Boreal New England, That We Do Not Know Whether To Be Temperate Orchards Or Sterile Climate.

It Is Very Perplexing How An Intrepid Frontier People, Who Fought A Wilderness, Floods, Tornadoes, And The Rockies, Cower Before Criticism, Which Is Regarded As A Malignant Tumor In The Imagination.

Ambition Is A Dead Sea Fruit, And The Greatest Peril To The Soul Is That One Is Likely To Get Precisely What He Is Seeking.