It's Not Life That Counts But The

The Biggest Tragedy Of Life Is The Utter Impossibility To Change What You Have Done

It Is An Age Of Stir And Change, A Season Of New Wine And Old Bottles. Yet, Assuredly, In Spite Of Breakages And Waste, A Wine Worth The Drinking Is All The Time Being Made.

Love Of Beauty Is Really Only The Sex Instinct, Which Nothing But Complete Union Satisfies.

When A Forsyte Was Engaged, Married, Or Born, The Forsytes Were Present; When A Forsyte Diedbut No Forsyte Had As Yet Died; They Did Not Die; Death Being Contrary To Their Principles, They Took Precautions Against It, The Instinctive Precautions Of Highly Vitalised Persons Who Resent Encroachments On Their Property.

I Am Still Under The Impression That There Is Nothing Alive Quite So Beautiful As A Thoroughbred Horse.