If Poverty Is The Mother Of All

A Long Disease Seems To Be A Halting Place Between Life And Death, That Death Itself May Be A Comfort To Those Who Die And To Those Who Are Left Behind.

We Rarely Repent Of Speaking Little, But Often Of Speaking Too Much.

A Man Has Made Great Progress In Cunning When He Does Not Seem Too Clever To Others.

It Is No More In Our Power To Love Always Than It Was Not To Love At All.

It Is A Great Misfortune Neither To Have Enough Wit To Talk Well Nor Enough Judgment To Be Silent.