The Mystery Of History Is An Insoluble

When A Nation's Young Men Are Conservative, Its Funeral Bell Is Already Rung.

I Know It Is More Agreeable To Walk Upon Carpets Than To Lie Upon Dungeon Floors, I Know It Is Pleasant To Have All The Comforts And Luxuries Of Civilization; But He Who Cares Only For These Things Is Worth No More Than A Butterfly, Contented And Thoughtless, Upon A Morning Flower; And Who Ever Thought Of Rearing A Tombstone To A Last Summer's Butterfly?

The Art Of Being Happy Lies In The Power Of Extracting Happiness From Common Things.

We Let Our Blessings Get Mouldy, And Then Call Them Curses.

The Monkey Is An Organized Sarcasm Upon The Human Race.