It Seems To Be A Law Of

A Hundred Eyes Were Fixed On Her, And Half As Many Hearts Lost To Her.

There Is Laughter That Goes So Far As To Lose All Touch With Its Motive, And To Exist Only, Grossly, In Itself. This Is Laughter At Its Best. A Man To Whom Such Laughter Has Often Been Granted May Happen To Die In A Work-house. No Matter. I Will Not Admit That He Has Failed In Life. Another Man, Who Has Never Laughed Thus, May Be Buried In Westminster Abbey, Leaving More Than A Million Pounds Overhead. What Then? I Regard Him As A Failure.

Anything That Is Worth Doing Has Been Done Frequently. Things Hitherto Undone Should Be Given, I Suspect, A Wide Berth.

No Fine Work Can Be Done Without Concentration And Self-sacrifice And Toil And Doubt.

It Is So Much Easier To Covet What One Hasn't Than To Revel In What One Has. Also, It Is So Much Easier To Be Enthusiastic About What Exists Than About What Doesn't.