Slander Is The Balm Of Malignity.

Living Is A Sickness To Which Sleep Provides Relief Every Sixteen Hours. It's A Palliative. The Remedy Is Death.

Remorse Turns Us Against Ourselves.

Vain Is Equivalent To Empty; Thus Vanity Is So Miserable A Thing, That One Cannot Give It A Worse Name Than Its Own. It Proclaims Itself For What It Is.

Someone Has Said That To Plagiarise From The Ancients Is To Play The Pirate Beyond The Equator, But That To Steal From The Moderns Is To Pick Pockets At Street Corners.

If A Woman Were About To Proceed To Her Execution, She Would Demand A Little Time To Perfect Her Toilet.