Childhood, Whose Very Happiness Is Love.

Every Other Species Of Talent Carries With It Its Eternity; We Enjoy The Work Of The Poet, The Painter, The Sculptor, Only As Thousands Will Do After Us; But The Actor - His Memory Is With His Generation, And That Passes Away.

Words Alike Make The Destiny Of Empires And Of Individuals. Ambition, Love, Hate, Interest, Vanity, Have Words For Their Engines, And Need None More Powerful. Language Is A Fifth Element - The One By Which All The Others Are Swayed.

Social Life Is Filled With Doubts And Vain Aspirings; Solitude, When The Imagination Is Dethroned, Is Turned To Weariness And Ennui.

There Is Nothing So Easy As To Be Wise For Others; A Species Of Prodigality, By-the-by - For Such Wisdom Is Wholly Wasted.

The Blessings Of Matrimony, Like Those Of Poverty, Belong Rather To Philosophy Than Reality.