A Coxcomb Is One Whom Simpletons Believe

The Pleasure We Feel In Criticizing Robs Us From Being Moved By Very Beautiful Things.

The News-writer Lies Down At Night In Great Tranquillity, Upon A Piece Of News Which Corrupts Before Morning, And Which He Is Obliged To Throw Away As Soon As He Awakes.

One Mark Of A Second-rate Mind Is To Be Always Telling Stories.

You May Drive A Dog Off The King's Armchair, And It Will Climb Into The Preacher's Pulpit; He Views The World Unmoved, Unembarrassed, Unabashed.

The Sweetest Of All Sounds Is That Of The Voice Of The Woman We Love.