Surely, If Life Is Good, It Is

But To Write - That Is Grief And Labor; And To Read What One Has Written - How Unlike The Story As One Saw It; How Dull, How Spirtless - That Is Enough To Send One Weeping To Bed.

Everybody's Tragedy Is Somebody's Nuisance.

The Ruder Lecturers Are, And The Louder Their Voices, The More Converts They Make To Their Opinions.

Remorse ... Is One Of The Many Afflictions For Which Time Finds A Cure.

Public Work Brings A Vicarious But Assured Sense Of Immortality. We May Be Poor, Weak, Timid, In Debt To Our Landlady, Bullied By Our Nieces, Stiff In The Joints, Shortsighted And Distressed; We Shall Perish, But The Cause Endures; The Cause Is Great.