Falsehood Is For A Season.

He Who Brings Ridicule To Bear Against Truth Finds In His Hand A Blade Without A Hilt. The Most Sparkling And Pointed Flame Of Wit Flickers And Expires Against The Incombustible Walls Of Her Sanctuary.

In The Morn Of Life We Are Alert, We Are Heated In Its Noon, And Only In Its Decline Do We Repose.

Be Assured That, Although Men Of Eminent Genius Have Been Guilty Of All Other Vices, None Worthy Of More Than A Secondary Name Has Ever Been A Gamester. Either An Excess Of Avarice Or A Deficiency Of What, In Physics, Is Called Excitability, Is The Cause Of It; Neither Of Which Can Exist In The Same Bosom With Genius, With Patriotism, Or With Virtue.

Friendship Is A Vase, Which, When It Is Flawed By Heat, Or Violence, Or Accident, May As Well Be Broken At Once; It Can Never Be Trusted After.

Two Evils, Of Almost Equal Weight, May Befall The Man Of Erudition; Never To Be Listened To, And To Be Listened To Always.