There Is Something Frightful In Being Required

Guests Are The Delight Of Leisure, And The Solace Of Ennui.

History Is, And Has Always Been Trameled By Facts. It May Ignore Some And Deny Others; But It Cannot Accommodate Itself Unreservedly To Theories; It Cannot Be Stripped Of Things Evidenced In Favor Of Things Surmised.

It Takes Time And Trouble To Persuade Ourselves That The Things We Want To Do Are The Things We Ought To Do.

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.

[mary Wortley Montagu] Wrote More Letters, With Fewer Punctuation Marks, Than Any Englishwoman Of Her Day; And Her Nephew, The Fourth Baron Rokeby, Nearly Blinded Himself In Deciphering The Two Volumes Of Undated Correspondence Which Were Printed In 1810. Two More Followed In 1813, After Which The Gallant Baron Either Died At His Post Or Was Smitten With Despair; For Sixty-eight Cases Of Letters Lay Undisturbed ... 'les Morts N'écrivent Point,' Said Madame De Maintenon Hopefully; But Of What Benefit Is This Inactivity, When We Still Continue To Receive Their Letters?