Wrong Is But Falsehood Put In Practice.

If In Argument We Can Make A Man Angry With Us, We Have Drawn Him From His Vantage Ground And Overcome Him.

What Is Companionship Where Nothing That Improves The Intellect Is Communicated, And Where The Larger Heart Contracts Itself To The Model And Dimension Of The Smaller?

Truth Is A Point, The Subtlest And Finest; Harder Than Adamant; Never To Be Broken, Worn Away, Or Blunted. Its Only Bad Quality Is, That It Is Sure To Hurt Those Who Touch It; And Likely To Draw Blood, Perhaps The Life Blood, Of Those Who Press Earnestly Upon It.

The Worse Of Ingratitude Lies Not In The Ossified Heart Of Him Who Commits It, But We Find It In The Effect It Produces On Him Against Whom It Was Committed.

Let Me Take Up Your Metaphor. Friendship Is A Vase, Which, When It Is Flawed By Heat Or Violence Or Accident, May As Well Be Broken At Once; It Can Never Be Trusted After. The More Graceful And Ornamental It Was, The More Clearly Do We Discern The Hopelessness Of Restoring It To Its Former State. Coarse Stones, If They Are Fractured, May Be Cemented Again; Precious Stones, Never.