Flattery Is Praise Insincerely Given For An

It Is Not Work That Kills Men; It Is Worry. Work Is Healthy; You Can Hard Put More Upon A Man Than He Can Bear. Worry Is Rust Upon The Blade. It Is Not The Revolution That Destroys The Machinery, But The Friction.

If Men Had Wings And Bore Black Feathers, Few Of Them Would Be Clever Enough To Be Crows.

Every Artist Dips His Brush In His Own Soul, And Paints His Own Nature Into His Pictures.

People May Excite In Themselves A Glow Of Compassion, Not By Toasting Their Feet At The Fire, And Saying: "lord, Teach Me Compassion," But By Going And Seeking An Object That Requires Compassion.

No Emotion, Any More Than A Wave, Can Long Retain Its Own Individual Form.