Talent Wears Well, Genius Wears Itself Out;

Brussels Is A Gay Little City That Lies As Bright Within Its Girdle Of Woodland As Any Butterfly That Rests Upon Moss.

When You Talk Yourself, You Think How Witty, How Original, How Acute You Are; But When Another Does So, You Are Very Apt To Think Only - What A Crib From Rochefoucauld!

Love Is Cruel As The Grave.

Why Is Youth So Short And Age So Long?

What Is Failure Except Feebleness? And What Is It To Miss One's Mark Except To Aim Widely And Weakly?