How Fatally The Entire Want Of Humor

How Fatally The Entire Want Of Humor Cripples The Mind.

The Gain Isn't Counted To The Recluse And Inactive That, Having Nothing To Measure Themselves By And Never Being Tested By Failure, They Simmer And Soak Perpetually In Conscious Complacency.

The Success Or Failure Of A Life, As Far As Posterity Goes, Seems To Lie In The More Or Less Luck Of Seizing The Right Moment Of Escape

How Sick One Gets Of Being "good," How Much I Should Respect Myself If I Could Burst Out And Make Everyone Wretched For Twenty-four Hours; Embody Selfishness.

What Sense Of Superiority It Gives One To Escape Reading Some Book Which Every One Else Is Reading.