There Is A Quickness Of Perception In

Nobody Minds Having What Is Too Good For Them.

I Have Faults Enough, But They Are Not, I Hope, Of Understanding. My Temper I Dare Not Vouch For. It Is, I Believe, Too Little Yielding— Certainly Too Little For The Convenience Of The World. I Cannot Forget The Follies And Vices Of Other So Soon As I Ought, Nor Their Offenses Against Myself. My Feelings Are Not Puffed About With Every Attempt To Move Them. My Temper Would Perhaps Be Called Resentful. My Good Opinion Once Lost, Is Lost Forever.

Stupid Men Are The Only Ones Worth Knowing After All.

From Politics It Was An Easy Step To Silence.

There Are Secrets In All Families.