Married Women Are Kept Women, And Theyare

What Joy Can The Years Bring Half So Sweet As The Unhappiness They've Taken Away?

Every Author, However Modest, Keeps A Most Outrageous Vanity Chained Like A Madman In The Padded Cell Of His Breast.

A Slight Touch Of Friendly Malice And Amusement Towards Those We Love Keeps Our Affections For Them From Turning Flat.

We Grow With Years More Fragile In Body, But Morally Stutter, And Can Throw Off The Chill Of A Bad Conscience Almost At Once.

I Am One Of The Unpraised, Unrewarded Millions Without Whom Statistics Would Be A Bankrupt Science. It Is We Who Are Born, Who Marry, Who Die, In Constant Ratios.