There Is No Applause That So Flatters

We Do Not Want To Think. We Do Not Want To Hear. We Do Not Care About Anything. Only Give Us A Good Dinner And Plenty Of Money, And Let Us Outshine Our Neighbors. There Is The Nineteenth Century Gospel.

Excess Always Carries It's Own Retributions.

It Is The North Wind That Lashes Men Into Vikings; It Is The Soft, Luscious South Wind Which Lulls Them To Lotus Dreams.

You Have Not A Boat Of Your Own, That Is Just It; That Is What Women Always Suffer From; They Have To Steer, But The Craft Is Some One Else's, And The Haul Too.

There Is A Self-evident Axiom, That She Who Is Born A Beauty Is Half Married.