For Him In Vain The Envious Seasons

There Is In All Men A Demand For The Superlative, So Much So That The Poor Devil That Has No Other Way Of Reaching It Attains It By Getting Drunk.

I Think It Not Improbable That Man, Like The Grub That Prepares A Chamber For The Winged Thing It Never Has Seen But Is To Be - That Man May Have Cosmic Destinies That He Does Not Understand.

We Expect More Of Ourselves Than We Have Any Right To.

Life Is A Fatal Complaint, And An Eminently Contagious One.

Most Of The Things We Do, We Do For No Better Reason Than That Our Fathers Have Done Them Or Our Neighbors Do Them, And The Same Is True Of A Larger Part Than What We Suspect Of What We Think.