Most Women Are Not As Young As

Undergraduates Owe Their Happiness Chiefly To The Consciousness That They Are No Longer At School. The Nonsense Which Was Knocked Out Of Them At School Is All Put Gently Back At Oxford Or Cambridge.

For A Young Man, Sleep Is A Sure Solvent Of Distress. There Whirls Not For Him In The Night Any So Hideous Phantasmagoria As Will Not Become, In The Clarity Of The Next Morning, A Spruce Procession For Him To Lead. Brief The Vague Horror Of His Awakening; Memory Sweeps Back To Him, And He Sees Nothing Dreadful After All. "why Not?" Is The Sun's Bright Message To Him, And "why Not Indeed?" His Answer.

Death Cancels All Engagements.

Sometimes I Feel That I Am A Natural Born Genius In A Field Of Human Endeavor That Hasn't Been Invented Yet

No Roman Ever Was Able To Say, 'i Dined Last Night With The Borgias'.