Miserable Orpheus Who, Turning To Lose His

The True Index Of A Man's Character Is The Health Of His Wife.

The Man Who Is Master Of His Passions Is Reason's Slave.

Boys Do Not Grow Up Gradually. They Move Forward In Spurts Like The Hands Of Clocks In Railway Stations.

The English Language Is Like A Broad River On Whose Bank A Few Patient Anglers Are Sitting, While, Higher Up, The Stream Is Being Polluted By A String Of Refuse-barges Tipping Out Their Muck.

Only By Avoiding The Beginning Of Things Can We Escape Their End.