It Is Very Common For Us To

Life Consists Not Of A Series Of Illustrious Actions Or Elegant Enjoyments. The Greater Part Of Our Time Passes In Compliance With Necessities, In The Performance Of Daily Duties, In The Removal Of Small Inconveniences, In The Procurement Of Petty Pleasures; And We Are Well Or Ill At Ease, As The Main Stream Of Life Glides On Smoothly, Or Is Ruffled By Small Obstacles And Frequent Interruption.

Wit Is That Which Has Been Often Thought, But Never Before Was Well Expressed.

I Should As Soon Think Of Contradicting A Bishop

Labor's Face Is Wrinkled With The Wind, And Swarthy With The Sun.

How Is It That We Hear The Loudest Yelps For Liberty Among The Drivers Of Negroes?