To Underestimate Oneself Is As Much An

Life, It Turns Out, Is Infinitely More Clever And Adaptable Than Anyone Had Ever Supposed.

It Was In The Days When France's Power Was Already Broken Upon The Seas, And When More Of Her Three-deckers Lay Rotting In The Medway Than Were To Be Found In Brest Harbour. But Her Frigates And Corvettes Still Scoured The Ocean, Closely Followed Ever By Those Of Her Rival. At The Uttermost Ends Of The Earth These Dainty Vessels, With Sweet Names Of Girls Or Of Flowers, Mangled And Shattered Each Other For The Honour Of The Four Yards Of Bunting Which Flapped From The End Of Their Gaffs.

Sir Walter, With His 61 Years Of Life, Although He Never Wrote A Novel Until He Was Over 40, Had, Fortunately For The World, A Longer Working Career Than Most Of His Brethren.

To Let The Brain Work Without Sufficient Material Is Like Racing An Engine. It Racks Itself To Pieces.

It's A Wicked World, And When A Clever Man Turns His Brain To Crime It Is The Worst Of All.