The Truth Is, We Like To Talk

There Is No Existence So Content As That Whose Present Is Engrossed By Employment, And Whose Future Is Filled By Some Strong Hope, The Truth Of Which Is Never Proved. Toil And Illusion Are The Only Secrets To Make Life Tolerable.

When Does The Mind Put Forth Its Powers? When Are The Stores Of Memory Unlocked? When Does Wit 'flash From Fluent Lips?' -- When But After A Good Dinner? Who Will Deny Its Influence On The Affections? Half Our Friends Are Born Of Turbots And Truffles.

A Blossom Full Of Promise Is Life's Joy, That Never Comes To Fruit. Hope, For A Time, Suns The Young Floweret In Its Gladsome Light, And It Looks Flourishing--a Little While-- 't Is Pass'd, We Know Not Whither, But 't Is Gone.

Habit Is A Second Nature, And What Was At First Pleasure, Is Next Necessity.

Occupation Is One Great Source Of Enjoyment. No Man, Properly Occupied, Was Ever Miserable.