It Is Bad Enough To Be Bad,

Wit Is The Salt Of Conversation, Not The Food, And Few Things In The World Are More Wearying Than A Sarcastic Attitude Towards Life.

There Was No Escape From The Letter-writer Who, A Hundred Or A Hundred And Twenty-five Years Ago, Captured A Coveted Correspondent. It Would Have Been As Easy To Shake Off An Octopus Or A Boa-constrictor.

When The Milk Of Human Kindness Turns Sour, It Is A Singularly Unpalatable Draught.

Love Is A Malady, The Common Symptoms Of Which Are The Same In All Patients.

Wit Is As Infinite As Love, And A Deal More Lasting In Its Qualities.