We Are The Buffoons Of Our Children.

Nothing, It Appears To Me, Is Of Greater Value In A Man Than The Power Of Judgment; And The Man Who Has It May Be Compared To A Chest Filled With Books, For He Is The Son Of Nature And The Father Of Art.

Poetry Is A Whim Of Nature In Her Lighter Moods; It Requires Nothing But Its Own Madness And, Lacking That, It Becomes A Soundless Cymbal, A Belfry Without A Bell.

Telling You The Truth Than Adore Me For Telling You Lies.

Anger Represents A Certain Power, When A Great Mind, Prevented From Executing Its Own Generous Desires, Is Moved By It.

Age Has A Good Mind And Sorry Shanks.