Pretty Much All The Honest Truth-telling There

The Joy Of Life Is To Put Out One's Power In Some Natural And Useful Or Harmless Way. There Is No Other. And The Real Misery Is Not To Do This.

There Is No Friend Like The Old Friend, Who Has Shared Our Morning Days, No Greeting Like His Welcome, No Homage Like His Praise: Fame Is The Scentless Sunflower, With Gaudy Crown Of Gold; But Friendship Is The Breathing Rose, With Sweets In Every Fold.

The Only Condition Of Peace In This World Is To Have No Ideas, Or, At Least Not To Express Them.

Knowledge-it Excites Prejudices To Call It Science-is Advancing As Irresistibly, As Majestically, As Remorselessly As The Ocean Moves In Upon The Shore.

There Is In All Men A Demand For The Superlative, So Much So That The Poor Devil That Has No Other Way Of Reaching It Attains It By Getting Drunk.