Every Life Is Its Own Excuse For

Literature Is The Noblest Of All The Arts. Music Dies On The Air, Or At Best Exists Only As A Memory; Oratory Ceases With The Effort; The Painter's Colors Fade And The Canvas Rots; The Marble Is Dragged From Its Pedestal And Is Broken Into Fragments.

A Person May Be Very Secretive And Yet Have No Secrets.

The Man Who Has No Problems Is Out Of The Game.

If You Can't Answer A Man's Arguments, All Is Not Lost; You Can Still Call Him Vile Names.

No Man Needs A Vacation So Much As The Man Who Has Just Had One.