The Bounds Of A Man's Knowledge Are

The Youth Who Follows His Appetites Too Soon Seizes The Cup, Before It Has Received Its Best Ingredients, And By Anticipating His Pleasures, Robs The Remaining Parts Of Life Of Their Share, So That His Eagerness Only Produces Manhood Of Imbecility And An Age Of Pain.

Processions, Cavalcades, And All That Fund Of Gay Frippery, Furnished Out By Tailors, Barbers, And Tire-women, Mechanically Influence The Mind Into Veneration; An Emperor In His Nightcap Would Not Meet With Half The Respect Of An Emperor With A Crown.

Absence, Like Death, Sets A Seal On The Image Of Those We Love: We Cannot Realize The Intervening Changes Which Time May Have Effected.

As In Some Irish Houses, Where Things Are So-so, One Gammon Of Bacon Hangs Up For A Show; But, For Eating A Rasher Of What They Take Pride In, They'd As Soon Think Of Eating The Pan It Is Fried In.

The Malicious Sneer Is Improperly Called Laughter.