It Is Easy For A

The Man Who Is Asked By An Author What He Thinks Of His Work Is Put To The Torture And Is Not Obliged To Speak The Truth.

It Matters Not How A Man Dies, But How He Lives. The Act Of Dying Is Not Of Importance, It Lasts So Short A Time.

Let Me Smile With The Wise, And Feed With The Rich.

Self-love Is Often Rather Arrogant Than Blind; It Does Not Hide Our Faults From Ourselves, But Persuades Us That They Escape The Notice Of Others.

I Am Not Yet So Lost In Lexicography, As To Forget That Words Are The Daughters Of The Earth, And That Things Are The Sons Of Heaven. Language Is Only The Instrument Of Science, And Words Are But The Signs Of Ideas: I Wish, However, That The Instrument Might Be Less Apt To Decay, And That Signs Might Be Permanent, Like The Things Which They Denote.