One January Day, Thirty Years Ago, The

Life Began For Me, When I Ceased To Admire And Began To Remember.

[mark Twain] Is Still The Rough, Awkward, Good-natured Boy Who Swore At The Deck Hands When He Was Three Years Old. Thoroughly Likeable As A Good Fellow, But Impossible As A Man Of Letters.

Late One Brilliant April Afternoon Professor Lucius Wilson Stood At The Head Of Chestnut Street, Looking About Him With The Pleased Air Of A Man Of Taste Who Does Not Very Often Get To Boston.

It Takes A Great Deal Of Experience To Become Natural.

No One Can Build His Security Upon The Nobleness Of Another Person.