A Coxcomb Is The Blockhead's Man Of

This Great Misfortune, To Be Incapable Of Solitude.

A Long Disease Seems To Be A Halting Place Between Life And Death, That Death Itself May Be A Comfort To Those Who Die And To Those Who Are Left Behind.

Grief That Is Dazed And Speechless Is Out Of Fashion: The Modern Woman Mourns Her Husband Loudly And Tells You The Whole Story Of His Death, Which Distresses Her So Much That She Forgets Not The Slightest Detail About It.

When We Are Young We Lay Up For Old Age; When We Are Old We Save For Death.

If Women Were By Nature What They Make Themselves By Art; If They Were To Lose Suddenly All The Freshness Of Their Complexion, And Their Faces To Become As Fiery And As Leaden As They Make Them With The Red And The Paint They Besmear Themselves With, They Would Consider Themselves The Most Wretched Creatures On Earth.