The Most Profound Joy Has More Of

My Reason Is Not Framed To Bend Or Stoop: My Knees Are.

We Are All Patchwork, And So Shapeless And Diverse In Composition That Each Bit, Each Moment, Plays Its Own Game.

He Who Lives Not To Others, Lives Little To Himself.

The Middle Sort Of Historians (of Which The Most Part Are) Spoil All; They Will Chew Our Meat For Us.

When I Quote Others I Do So In Order To Express My Own Ideas More Clearly.