The World Is A Play That Would

One Learns Little More About A Man From The Feats Of His Literary Memory Than From The Feats Of His Alimentary Canal.

The New York Playgoer Is A Child Of Nature, And He Has An Honest And Wholesome Regard Of Whatever Is Atrocious In Art.

The World Is A Play That Would Not Be Worth Seeing If We Knew The Plot.

Averageness Is A Quality We Must Put Up With. Men March Toward Civilization In Column Formation, And By The Time The Van Has Learned To Admire The Masters The Rear Is Drawing Reluctantly Away From The Totem Pole.

Women Singly Do A Good Deal Of Harm. Women In Bulk Are Chastening.