All History Is But The Lengthened Shadow

The Etymologist Finds The Deadest Word To Have Been Once A Brilliant Picture. Language Is Fossil Poetry. As The Limestone Of The Continent Consists Of Infinite Masses Of The Shells Of Animalcules, So Language Is Made Up Of Images Or Tropes, Which Now, In Their Secondary Use, Have Long Ceased To Remind Us Of Their Poetic Origin.

The Never-ending Task Of Self Improvement.

A Day For Toil, An Hour For Sport, But For A Friend Is Life Too Short.

There Is This To Be Said In Favor Of Drinking, That It Takes The Drunkard First Out Of Society, Then Out Of The World.

In Failing Circumstances No One Can Be Relied On To Keep Their Integrity.