Indolence Is The Devil's Cushion.

As Pride Sometimes Is Hid Under Humility, Idleness If Often Covered By Turbulence And Hurry.

There Is No Wisdom In Useless And Hopeless Sorrow, But There Is Something In It So Like Virtue, That He Who Is Wholly Without It Cannot Be Loved.

Being In A Ship Is Being In A Jail, With The Chance Of Being Drowned.

Bashfulness May Sometimes Exclude Pleasure, But Seldom Opens Any Avenue To Sorrow Or Remorse.

In A Man's Letters You Know, Madam, His Soul Lies Naked, His Letters Are Only The Mirror Of His Breast, Whatever Passes Within Him Is Shown Undisguised In Its Natural Process. Nothing Is Inverted, Nothing Distorted, You See Systems In Their Elements, You Discover Actions In Their Motives.