What We Love Once, We Love Forever.

Age Is Nothing But Death That Is Conscious.

It Is A Kind Of Blindness--poverty. We Can Only Grope Through Life When We Are Poor, Hitting And Maiming Ourselves Against Every Angle.

Nothing Is So Pleasant ... As To Display Your Worldly Wisdom In Epigram And Dissertation, But It Is A Trifle Tedious To Hear Another Person Display Theirs.

The Heart Of Silver Falls Ever Into The Hands Of Brass. The Sensitive Herb Is Eaten As Grass By The Swine.

The Loss Of Our Illusions Is The Only Loss From Which We Never Recover.