No Matter Who Reigns, The Merchant Reigns.

Thorough Selfishness Destroys Or Paralyzes Enjoyment. A Heart Made Selfish By The Contest For Wealth Is Like A Citadel Stormed In War, Utterly Shattered.

There Are Persons So Radiant, So Genial, So Kind, So Pleasure-bearin G, That You Instinctively Feel In Their Presence That They Do You Good; Whose Coming Into A Room Is Like Bringing A Lamp There.

Money In The Hands Of One Or Two Men Is Like A Dungheap In A Barnyard. So Long As It Lies In A Mass, It Does No Good; But, If It Is Only Spread Out Evenly On The Land, Everything Will Grow.

There Is No Slave Out Of Heaven Like A Loving Woman; And Of All Loving Women, There Is No Such Slave As A Mother.

Mirth Is God's Medicine. Everybody Ought To Bathe In It. Grim Care, Moroseness, Anxiety,--all This Rust Of Life, Ought To Be Scoured Off By The Oil Of Mirth. It Is Better Than Emery. Every Man Ought To Rub Himself With It. A Man Without Mirth Is Like A Wagon Without Springs, In Which One Is Caused Disagreeably To Jolt By Every Pebble Over Which It Runs.