If You Miss The First Buttonhole, You

Life Seems So Vulgar, So Easily Content With The Commonplace Things Of Every Day, And Yet It Always Nurses And Cherishes Certain Higher Claims In Secret, And Looks About For The Means Of Satisfying Them.

Ill-humor Is Nothing More Than An Inward Feeling Of Our Own Want Of Merit, A Dissatisfaction With Ourselves Which Is Always United With An Envy That Foolish Vanity Excites.

It Doesn't Behoove Elderly Persons To Follow Fashion In Their Thinking Nor In The Way They Dress.

Daring Ideas Are Like Chessmen Moved Forward; They May Be Beaten, But They May Start A Winning Game.

Blood Is A Juice Of Rarest Quality. [ger., Blut Ist Ein Ganz Beondrer Saft.]