The Nearer You Come Into Relation With

As For The Excellent Little Wretches Who Grow Up In What They Are Taught, With Never A Scruple Or A Query, ... They Signify Nothing In The Intellectual Life Of The Race.

There Is Nothing Like The Dead Cold Hand Of The Past To Take Down Our Tumid Egotism And Lead Us Into The Solemn Flow Of The Life Of Our Race.

Men, Like Peaches And Pears, Grow Sweet A Little While Before They Begin To Decay.

The Only Prize Much Cared For By The Powerful Is Power. The Prize Of The General Is Not A Bigger Tent, But Command.

Nothing Is So Commonplace Has The Wish To Be Remarkable.