To Be Civilized Is To Be Incapable

The Delusions Of The Past Seem Fond And Foolish. The Delusions Of The Present Seem Subtle And Sane.

We Cannot Learn To Love Other Tourists,-the Laws Of Nature Forbid It,-but, Meditating Soberly On The Impossibility Of Their Loving Us, We May Reach Some Common Platform Of Tolerance, Some Common Exchange Of Recognition And Amenity.

The Audience Is The Controlling Factor In The Actor's Life. It Is Practically Infallible, Since There Is No Appeal From Its Verdict. It Is A Little Like A Supreme Court Composed Of Irresponsible Minors.

[mary Wortley Montagu] Wrote More Letters, With Fewer Punctuation Marks, Than Any Englishwoman Of Her Day; And Her Nephew, The Fourth Baron Rokeby, Nearly Blinded Himself In Deciphering The Two Volumes Of Undated Correspondence Which Were Printed In 1810. Two More Followed In 1813, After Which The Gallant Baron Either Died At His Post Or Was Smitten With Despair; For Sixty-eight Cases Of Letters Lay Undisturbed ... 'les Morts N'écrivent Point,' Said Madame De Maintenon Hopefully; But Of What Benefit Is This Inactivity, When We Still Continue To Receive Their Letters?

The Least Practical Of Us Have Some Petty Thrift Dear To Our Hearts, Some One Direction In Which We Love To Scrimp.