There Is Nothing In The World So

The Pleasure Of Possession, Whether We Possess Trinkets, Or Offspring - Or Possibly Books, Or Prints, Or Chessmen, Or Postage Stamps - Lies In Showing These Things To Friends Who Are Experiencing No Immediate Urge To Look At Them.

Edged Tools Are Dangerous Things To Handle, And Not Infrequently Do Much Hurt.

Conversation In Its Happiest Development Is A Link, Equally Exquisite And Adequate, Between Mind And Mind, A System By Which Men Approach One Another With Sympathy And Enjoyment, A Field For The Finest Amenities Of Civilization, For The Keenest And Most Intelligent Display Of Social Activity. It Is Also Our Solace, Our Inspiration, And Our Most Rational Pleasure. It Is A Duty We Owe To One Another; It Is Our Common Debt To Humanity.

I Am Eighty Years Old. There Seems To Be Nothing To Add To This Statement. I Have Reached The Age Of Undecorated Facts - Facts That Refuse To Be Softened By Sentiment, Or Confused By Nobility Of Phrase.

Wit Is The Salt Of Conversation, Not The Food, And Few Things In The World Are More Wearying Than A Sarcastic Attitude Towards Life.