Liberty Is The Soul's Right To Breathe.

A Dull Ax Never Loves Grindstones.

Some People Are So Dry That You Might Soak Them In A Joke For A Month And It Would Not Get Through Their Skins.

Books Are The Windows Through Which The Soul Looks Out.

The Church Is No More Religion Than The Masonry Of The Aqueduct Is The Water That Flows Through It.

Mirth Is God's Medicine. Everybody Ought To Bathe In It. Grim Care, Moroseness, Anxiety,--all This Rust Of Life, Ought To Be Scoured Off By The Oil Of Mirth. It Is Better Than Emery. Every Man Ought To Rub Himself With It. A Man Without Mirth Is Like A Wagon Without Springs, In Which One Is Caused Disagreeably To Jolt By Every Pebble Over Which It Runs.