People Are Either Born Hosts Or Born

Only Mediocrity Can Be Trusted To Be Always At Its Best. Genius Must Always Have Lapses Proportionate To Its Triumphs.

It Is A Part Of English Hypocrisy Or English Reserve, That Whilst We Are Fluent Enough In Grumbling About Small Inconveniences, We Insist On Making Light Of Any Great Difficulties Or Grief's That May Beset Us.

There Is Much Virtue In A Window. It Is To A Human Being As A Frame Is To A Painting, As A Proscenium To A Play, As 'form' To Literature. It Strongly Defines Its Content.

Every Kind Of Writing Is Hypocritical.

For A Young Man, Sleep Is A Sure Solvent Of Distress. There Whirls Not For Him In The Night Any So Hideous Phantasmagoria As Will Not Become, In The Clarity Of The Next Morning, A Spruce Procession For Him To Lead. Brief The Vague Horror Of His Awakening; Memory Sweeps Back To Him, And He Sees Nothing Dreadful After All. "why Not?" Is The Sun's Bright Message To Him, And "why Not Indeed?" His Answer.