While We've Youth In Our Hearts, We

You Make Me Chuckle When You Say That You Are No Longer Young, That You Have Turned Twenty-four. A Man Is Or May Be Young To After Sixty, And Not Old Before Eighty.

Life Is A Fatal Complaint, And An Eminently Contagious One.

No Generalization Is Wholly True—not Even This One.

On The Whole, I Am On The Side Of The Unregenerate Who Affirms The Worth Of Life As An End In Itself, As Against The Saints Who Deny It.

The Joy Of Life Is To Put Out One's Power In Some Natural And Useful Or Harmless Way. There Is No Other. And The Real Misery Is Not To Do This.