The Pen Is The Tongue Of The

Thou Hast Seen Nothing Yet.

The Beauty Of Some Women Has Days And Seasons, Depending Upon Accidents Which Diminish Or Increase It; Nay, The Very Passions Of The Mind Naturally Improve Or Impair It, And Very Often Utterly Destroy It.

Too Much Sanity May Be Madness!

I Had Rather Munch A Crust Of Brown Bread And An Onion In A Corner, Without Any More Ado Or Ceremony, Than Feed Upon Turkey At Another Man?s Table, Where One Is Fain To Sit Mincing And Chewing His Meat An Hour Together, Drink Little, Be Always Wiping His Fingers And His Chops, And Never Dare To Cough Nor Sneeze, Though He Has Never So Much A Mind To It, Nor Do A Many Things Which A Body May Do Freely By One?s Self.

The Very Remembrance Of My Former Misfortune Proves A New One To Me.