There Is A Cure For Temptation. What?

Pure Herring Oil Is The Port Wine Of English Cats

Nothing Is As Heady As The Wine Of Misfortune.

A Grass Blade Believes That Men Build Palaces For It To Grow In. Grass Wedges Its Way Between The Closest Blocks Of Marble And It Brings Them Down. This Power Of Feeble Life Which Can Creep In Anywhere Is Greater Than That Of The Mighty Behind Their Cannons.

Love Is Precisely To The Moral Nature What The Sun Is To The Earth.

Virtue, My Pet, Is An Abstract Idea, Varying In Its Manifestations With The Surroundings. Virtue In Provence, In Constantinople, In London, And In Paris Bears Very Different Fruit, But Is None The Less Virtue.