Every Man Regards His Own Life As

He Thought Of The Mouldering Child, Which Laid Its Withered Thin Arms Around His Soul, As If It Were His Own, And To Whom Death Had Given As Much As A God Gave To Endymion, — Sleep, Eternal Youth, And Immortality.

A Variety Of Nothing Is Superior To A Monotony Of Something.

Love Lessens Woman's Delicacy And Increases Man's.

For Sleep, Riches And Health To Be Truly Enjoyed And Gratefully Appreciated, They Must Be Interrupted So The Person Can See That Not Having Them Is Not As Good As Having Them.

The Last, Best Fruit Which Comes To Late Perfection, Even In The Kindliest Soul, Is Tenderness Toward The Hard, Forbearance Toward The Unforbearing, Warmth Of Heart Toward The Cold, Philanthropy Toward The Misanthropic.