Life Is But Sighs; And, When They

He Who Brings Ridicule To Bear Against Truth Finds In His Hand A Blade Without A Hilt.

Clear Writers, Like Fountains, Do Not Seem So Deep As They Are; The Turbid Look The Most Profound.

States, Like Men, Have Their Growth, Their Manhood, Their Decrepitude, Their Decay.

I Hate False Words, And Seek With Care, Difficulty, And Moroseness, Those That Fit The Thing.

Principles Do Not Mainly Influence Even The Principled; We Talk On Principle, But We Act On Interest.