All Work, Even Cotton-spinning, Is Noble; Work

The Past Is All Holy To Us; The Dead Are All Holy; Even They That Were Wicked When Alive.

Man Is, And Was Always, A Block-head And Dullard; Much Readier To Feel And Digest, Than To Think And Consider.

It Is Not A Lucky Word, This Name Impossible; No Good Comes Of Those Who Have It So Often In Their Mouths.

The Press Is The Fourth Estate Of The Realm.

Man Makes Circumstances, And Spiritually As Well As Economically, Is The Artificer Of His Own Fortune.