God Who Sends The Wound Sends The

Inasmuch As Ill-deeds Spring Up As A Spontaneous Crop, They Are Easy To Learn.

'tis The Maddest Trick A Man Can Ever Play In His Whole Life, To Let His Breath Sneak Out Of His Body Without Any More Ado, And Without So Much As A Rap O'er The Pate, Or A Kick Of The Guts; To Go Out Like The Snuff Of A Farthing Candle, And Die Merely Of The Mulligrubs, Or The Sullens.

There Are Two Kinds Of People In This World, My Grandmother Used To Say: The Have's And The Have-not's, And She Stuck To The Have's. And Today, Señor Don Quixote, People Are More Interested In Having Than In Knowing. An Ass Covered With Gold Makes A Better Impression Than A Horse With A Packsaddle.

It Is One Thing To Write As Poet And Another To Write As A Historian: The Poet Can Recount Or Sing About Things Not As They Were, But As They Should Have Been, And The Historian Must Write About Them Not As They Should Have Been, But As They Were, Without Adding Or Subtracting Anything From The Truth.

No Fathers Or Mothers Think Their Own Children Ugly.