The Bibliophile Is The Master Of His

Self-contemplation Is Apt To End In Self-conceit.

You May Say, "i Wish To Send This Ball So As To Kill The Lion Crouching Yonder, Ready To Spring Upon Me. My Wishes Are All Right, And I Hope Providence Will Direct The Ball." Providence Won't. You Must Do It; And If You Do Not, You Are A Dead Man.

A Person Without A Sense Of Humor Is Like A Wagon Without Springs. It's Jolted By Every Pebble On The Road.

Words Are But The Bannerets Of A Great Army, A Few Bits Of Waving Color Here And There; Thoughts Are The Main Body Of The Footman That March Unseen Below.

There Is An Equator That Runs Just Under The Nose: All That Live Below The Equator Are Animals; All That Live Above It Are Men.