Literature, Like Nobility, Runs In The Blood.

Art Must Anchor In Nature, Or It Is The Sport Of Every Breath Of Folly.

They Are The Only Honest Hypocrites, Their Life Is A Voluntary Dream, A Studied Madness.

No Act Terminating In Itself Constitutes Greatness.

The More We Do, The More We Can Do; The More Busy We Are, The More Leisure We Have.

We Prefer Ourselves To Others, Only Because We A Have More Intimate Consciousness And Confirmed Opinion Of Our Own Claims And Merits Than Of Any Other Person's.