The Air Is Like A Draught Of

It's Never Too Early For A Cocktail.

The Pleasures That Once Were Heaven Look Silly At Sixty-seven.

Criticism And Bolshevism Have One Thing In Common. They Both Seek To Pull Down That Which They Could Never Build.

Never Trust A Man With Short Legs. His Brains Are Too Near His Bottom.

My Importance To The World Is Relatively Small. On The Other Hand, My Importance To Myself Is Tremendous. I Am All I Have To Work With, To Play With, To Suffer And To Enjoy. It Is Not The Eyes Of Others That I Am Wary Of, But Of My Own. I Do Not Intend To Let Myself Down More Than I Can Possibly Help, And I Find That The Fewer Illusions I Have About Myself Or The World Around Me, The Better Company I Am For Myself.