America Has Enjoyed The Doubtful Blessing Of

I Have Written Chiefly Because, Though I Have Often Dreaded The Necessity, I Have Found It More Painful, In The End, Not To Write.

... In The Nineteen-thirties ... The Most Casual Reader Of Murder Mysteries Could Infallibly Detect The Villain, As Soon As There Entered A Character Who Had Recently Washed His Neck And Did Not Commit Mayhem On The English Language.

Youth Is The Period Of Harsh Judgments, And A Man Seldom Learns Until He Reaches Thirty That Human Nature Is Made Up Not Of Simples, But Of Compounds.

Nations Decay From Within More Often Than They Surrender To Outward Assault.

There Is No State Of Satisfaction, Because To Himself No Man Is A Success.