If I Have Not Read A Book

Without The Aid Of Prejudice And Custom, I Should Not Be Able To Find My Way Across The Room.

A Wise Traveler Never Despises His Own Country.

The Confined Air Of A Metropolis Is Hurtful To The Minds And Bodies Of Those Who Have Never Lived Out Of It. It Is Impure, Stagnant--without Breathing-space To Allow A Larger View Of Ourselves Or Others--and Gives Birth To A Puny, Sickly, Unwholesome, And Degenerate Race Of Beings.

Persons Who Undertake To Pry Into, Or Cleanse Out All The Filth Of A Common Sewer, Either Cannot Have Very Nice Noses, Or Will Soon Lose Them.

We Must Be Doing Something To Be Happy.