Fate Weaves The Darkness, Which Is Perhaps

Anything That Is Worth Doing Has Been Done Frequently. Things Hitherto Undone Should Be Given, I Suspect, A Wide Berth.

There Is Much Virtue In A Window. It Is To A Human Being As A Frame Is To A Painting, As A Proscenium To A Play, As 'form' To Literature. It Strongly Defines Its Content.

Women Who Love The Same Man Have A Kind Of Bitter Freemasonry.

History Does Not Repeat Itself. The Historians Repeat One Another.

A Crowd, Proportionately To Its Size, Magnifies All That In Its Units Pertains To The Emotions, And Diminishes All That In Them Pertains To Thought.