There's No Defense Against Stupidity.

Every Step Forward Is Made At The Cost Of Mental And Physical Pain To Someone.

If We Have Our Own Why Of Life, We Shall Get Along With Almost Any How. Man Does Not Strive For Pleasure; Only The Englishman Does.

To Discover He Is Loved In Return Ought Really To Disenchant The Lover With The Beloved.

Whenever The Truth Is Uncovered, The Artist Will Always Cling With Rapt Gaze To What Still Remains Covering Even After Such Uncovering; But The Theoretical Man Enjoys And Finds Satisfaction In The Discarded Covering And Finds The Highest Object Of His Pleasure In The Process Of An Ever Happy Uncovering That Succeeds Through His Own Efforts.

The Unlucky Hand Dealt To Clear And Precise Writers Is That People Assume They Are Superficial And So Do Not Go To Any Trouble Inreading Them: And The Lucky Hand Dealt To Unclear Ones Is That The Reader Does Go To Some Trouble And Then Attributes The Pleasure He Experiences In His Own Zeal To Them.