I Could Not Conjure Up One Melancholy

I Like Cats.... When I Meet A Cat, I Say, "poor Pussy!" And Stoop Down And Tickle The Side Of Its Head; And The Cat Sticks Up Its Tail In A Rigid, Cast-iron Manner, Arches Its Back, And Wipes Its Nose Up Against My Trousers; And All Is Gentleness And Peace.

The Shy Man Does Have Some Slight Revenge Upon Society For The Torture It Inflicts Upon Him. He Is Able, To A Certain Extent, To Communicate His Misery. He Frightens Other People As Much As They Frighten Him. He Acts Like A Damper Upon The Whole Room, And The Most Jovial Spirits Become, In His Presence, Depressed And Nervous.

Life Will Always Remain A Gamble, With Prizes Sometimes For The Imprudent, And Blanks So Often To The Wise.

We Like, We Cherish, We Are Very, Very Fond Of—but We Never Love Again.

Some People Are Under The Impression That All That Is Required To Make A Good Fisherman Is The Ability To Tell Lies Easily And Without Blushing; But This Is A Mistake.