Idleness, Like Kisses, To Be Sweet Must

I Did Not Intend To Write A Funny Book, At First. I Did Not Know I Was A Humorist. I Have Never Been Sure About It. In The Middle Ages, I Should Probably Have Gone About Preaching And Got Myself Burnt Or Hanged.

Oh, Give Me Back The Good Old Days Of Fifty Years Ago,“ Has Been The Cry Ever Since Adam's Fifty-first Birthday.

There Are Various Methods By Which You May Achieve Ignominy And Shame. By Murdering A Large And Respected Family In Cold Blood And Afterward Depositing Their Bodies In The Water Companies' Reservoir, You Will Gain Much Unpopularity In The Neighborhood Of Your Crime, And Even Robbing A Church Will Get You Cordially Disliked, Especially By The Vicar. But If You Desire To Drain To The Dregs The Fullest Cup Of Scorn And Hatred That A Fellow Human Creature Can Pour Out For You, Let A Young Mother Hear You Call Dear Baby "it.

Seek Out Some Retired And Old-world Spot, Far From The Madding Crowd, And Dream Away A Sunny Week Among Its Drowsy Lanes - Some Half-forgotten Nook, Hidden Away By The Fairies, Out Of Reach Of The Noisy World - Some Quaint-perched Eyrie On The Cliffs Of Time, From Whence The Surging Waves Of The Nineteenth Century Would Sound Far-off And Faint.

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