Consciousness Of Error Is, To A Certain

Every Witticism Is An Inexact Thought; That Which Is Perfectly True Is Imperfectly Witty.

Such Is Our Impatience, Such Our Hatred Of Procrastination, To Everything But The Amendment Of Our Practices And The Adornment Of Our Nature, One Would Imagine We Were Dragging Time Along By Force, And Not He Us.

Nothing Is Pleasanter To Me Than Exploring In A Library.

Cats Like Men Are Flatterers.

Dignity, In Private Men And In Governments, Has Been Little Else Than A Stately And Stiff Perseverance In Oppression; And Spirit, As It Is Called, Little Else Than The Foam Of Hard-mouthed Insolence.