There Is No Wisdom In Useless And

Spring Is The Season Of Gaiety, And Winter Of Terror; In Spring The Heart Of Tranquility Dances To The Melody Of The Groves, And The Eye Of Benevolence Sparkles At The Sight Of Happiness And Plenty: In Winter, Compassion Melts At Universal Calamity, And The Tear Of Softness Starts At The Wailing Of Hunger And The Cries Of The Creation In Distress

There Is Nothing Which Has Yet Been Contrived By Man, By Which So Much Happiness Is Produced As By A Good Tavern.

A Good Wife Is Like The Ivy Which Beautifies The Building To Which It Clings, Twining Its Tendrils More Lovingly As Time Converts The Ancient Edifice Into A Ruin.

Of All Noises, I Think Music Is The Least Disagreeable.

Whoever Commits A Fraud Is Guilty Not Only Of The Particular Injury To Him Who He Deceives, But Of The Diminution Of That Confidence Which Constitutes Not Only The Ease But The Existence Of Society.