You Waste Life When You Waste Good

All The Old Houses That I Knew When I Was A Child Were Full Of Books, Bought Generation After Generation By Members Of The Family. Nobody Told You To Read This Or Not To Read That.

Life Is A Game Of Piquet Played In A Bramble Bush In Very Bad Weather.

Two-thirds Of My Energies Go In Trying To Save One-third For Work.

Each Generation Must Get On The Same Old Merry-go-round, Only Disguised In A Fresh Coat Of Paint.

There Is No Such Thing As An Exact Synonym And No Such Thing As An Unmixed Motive.