The Happy Never Say, And

Fame, They Tell You, Is Air; But Without Air There Is No Life For Any; Without Fame There Is None For The Best.

He Who Brings Ridicule To Bear Against Truth Finds In His Hand A Blade Without A Hilt. The Most Sparkling And Pointed Flame Of Wit Flickers And Expires Against The Incombustible Walls Of Her Sanctuary.

Friendships Are The Purer And The More Ardent, The Nearer They Come To The Presence Of God, The Sun Not Only Of Righteousness But Of Love.

In The Hours Of Distress And Misery, The Eyes Of Every Mortal Turn To Friendship; In The Hours Of Gladness And Conviviality, What Is Our Want? It Is Friendship. When The Heart Overflows With Gratitude, Or With Any Other Sweet Or Sacred Sentiment, What Is The Word To Which It Would Give Utterance? A Friend.

True Wit, To Every Man, Is That Which Falls On Another.