How Horrible It Is To Have So

Know Your Own Happiness. You Want Nothing But Patience- Or Give It A More Fascinating Name, Call It Hope.

Let Other Pens Dwell On Guilt And Misery. I Quit Such Odious Subjects As Soon As I Can, Impatient To Restore Everybody Not Greatly In Fault Themselves To Tolerable Comfort, And To Have Done With All The Rest.

We Certainly Do Not Forget You, So Soon As You Forget Us. It Is, Perhaps, Our Fate Rather Than Our Merit. We Cannot Help Ourselves.

For He Is Such A Disagreeable Man, That It Would Be Quite A Misfortune To Be Liked By Him.

A Man Who Has Nothing To Do With His Own Time Has No Conscience In His Intrusion On That Of Others.