Cats Don't Caress Us-they Caress Themselves On

That Which Happens To The Soil When It Ceases To Be Cultivated By The Social Man Happens To Man Himself When He Foolishly Forsakes Society For Solitude; The Brambles Grow Up In His Desert Heart.

Rumor, Once Started, Rushes On Like A River, Until It Mingles With, And Is Lost In The Sea.

The Most Civilized People Are As Near To Barbarism As The Most Polished Steel Is To Rust. Nations, Like Metals, Have Only A Superficial Brilliancy.

Obtuseness Is Sometimes A Virtue.

Mutability Is Written Upon All Things.